If Only Your Father Knew
by TechnicolourGrey
Summary: Professor Malfoy had everything planned out. And it was all going to plan, too. And then along came Miss Black; and the damage would be irrevocable. Lucissa, AU but follows canon timeline, Marauders era, teacher/student, M for a reason.
1. Chapter 1

**20/07/11 - A quick but undying thank you to Orochi132 for creating a recommendation for this story on TVTropes! If you are interested in seeing it, it can be found at http:/ /tvtropes. org/pmwiki/pmwiki. php/FanficRecs/HarryPotterShipping, and if you would like to add to it after reading then please feel free.**

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><p><strong>Story: If Only Your Father Knew<strong>

**Rating: M**

**Author: TechnicolourGrey**

**Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, or anything, really. Except for this story.**

**Okay, so.**

**This is my first ever attempt at a multi-chapter fic. W****ith many thanks to the people who listened to me go on about how long this took me to write, and many thanks to you for stumbling upon it.**

**I hope you enjoy.~**

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><p>The sound of quills each forming the same words resounded throughout the classroom – identical scratches of harsh points and ink, recreated thirty-two times over, save for a few slower students who were out of time of the harsh, grating tune (naming no names, <em>Victor Crabbe, Marius Goyle<em>) and finished a considerable time after everyone else had put down their quills. The same words at the very top of their parchment, right hand corner, underlined with precision; September 2nd 1972.

The students shifted restlessly, but did not exchange words. They stared rather expectantly at the dark desk at the front of the room. Sombre, wooden, gleaming in the dim light of the torches which lined the walls, the chair behind, rather comfortable looking, made from leather as dull as the desk itself. The items upon the desk were not of much interest: an hour glass, idly turning itself as though in boredom, the sand within being tossed from side to side at every twist; a pile of supposedly blank parchment to the right of the desk (in the perspective of the person sitting at it, were there someone sitting at it); small but ornate pots, adorned with meticulous silver detail, filled with various colours of ink to the left.

The students, fifth-years now, knew better than to talk to each other during the absence of their teacher. They knew well that if the professor walked into his class room to find his pupils in uproar - which included idle chit-chat and gossip between class mates - the consequences would not be pleasant. Keyes had discovered this in his first year, when he threw a charmed parchment aeroplane across the room in line with a Gryffindor's head while the professor's back was turned. The aeroplane had combusted into flame and the boy was issued with an instant week's worth of detention without the professor even having to look around, and no one had really dared question the teacher's authority ever since.

Chalk wandered of its own across the blackboard, clicking and swishing as it too formed the date in time with the students. It continued, instructing the rows of rather bleary-eyed teenagers to turn to a specific page in their textbooks, _A Guide to: Surviving and Combating the Dark Arts – 1970 Edition_by _Phineas M. H. Hexington_, (page 153, if one must know) and underlined the subsequent word: Vampires. It then hovered itself to the teacher's desk where it landed with a soft thump on the bare wood. It wheezed, coughing powdered white chalk onto the dark mahogany, and lay still.

Turning to the designated page, Narcissa Black didn't bother to stifle a sigh. Had she tried it would have been futile anyway, for she was not one to hide when she was not best pleased. Her father could vouch for that. Ignoring the girl beside her – Maurice Parkington, who was too busy picking her nails, scrutinizing them over her upturned nose, to worry about Narcissa anyway. - she placed her head on her hand, leant heavily on it and stared listlessly out of the window.

The sky was iron grey, sunlight trying and failing to pierce through the downcast clouds. The lake mimicked the colour, which, if anything, made the whole scene ever more depressing, while the Forbidden Forest, fairly foreboding at the best of times, was made ever more dreary and boring – and that _hut _in front of it. Merlin's beard. The peasant who lived there was no better than the dirt on which he walked.

In Narcissa's first year, on hearing that he was relatively new (well, compared to McGonagall. How long had she been working at Hogwarts, a hundred years or so? It certainly looked like it) she had done her best to make his life a misery. Although, yes, that may have just been dropping a trail of Honeydukes sweet wrappers over the quidditch pitch and observing, high in the stands, the miserable ogre pick them up like a Muggle, or watching Rodolphus throw dungbombs into Greenhouse 3. Well, she would have done it herself but Rodolphus was two years older and a man (loose term) so he could risk his education. Not that if Narcissa finished school it would do her much good. She would never get a job, as was tradition of pureblood witches. She would be the housewife of an unattractive noble man – erectile dysfunction and near-poverty was optional, but she hoped her father had the sense to choose someone lacking those qualities. So what was the point? Really? She was sitting in a dreary classroom with a dreary view out of the window and a dreary outlook on life.

Well, there was some consolation. At least she would never end up like that lumbering oaf of a gamekeeper, sitting by a pathetic fire in his pathetic excuse of a one-roomed hovel with his pathetic food and pathetic-

"Now." Narcissa blinked twice at the sound of that voice, pulling herself from her hate-filled, rather stroppy reverie. It was low, commanding, familiar. Her expression softened from the stony, sulky complexion it had taken on while glaring out of the window and hating everything beyond it, and turned instead to fix on the man who had spoken.

At the side of his desk, upon which the hourglass now remained still, slowly trickling sand upwards from the bottom dome to top, Professor Malfoy. Teacher of Defence Against the Dark Arts for her past five years. Long platinum blonde hair, chiselled face, voice that could make a doxie pregnant. Yes, that's the one. He looked as pale as ever, exaggerated by the silken black robes he always sported for his job; fastened at the neck with a brooch adorned with a coiled up snake, poised to strike, eyes gleaming with flashes of green of which there was no question whether they were real emeralds. Most thought Professor Malfoy would rather puncture a lung than wear something which didn't involve real jewels. Narcissa was included in this 'most'.

"As you are aware – or should be – your O.W.L.s are fast approaching. And since all of you have decided to continue the subject in the foreseeable future, I will tell you now. I will not be accepting any… failures in my examinations." His eyes cast around the room, halting momentarily on Crabbe and Goyle.

They were quietly guffawing together, though it didn't take a genius to work out that that wasn't the only reason that the Professor's eyes stopped on the two boys. Probably why they looked confused when the rest of the class turned to look at them also, Narcissa reasoned, for they were most certainly not synonymous with the term 'genius'. With practised ease and agility, Professor Malfoy had removed his wand from his cane and flicked it soundlessly in the two boy's direction.

Their desks parted immediately, pushing them away from each other. The issue of Play Wizard which they had balanced between them on their laps fell to the floor, on a not very conservative page, unless one would call a gyrating double page spread (quite literally) of a woman in rather lacy and minimal underwear conservative, which Narcissa would not.

Eyes rolling, Narcissa scribbled boredly in the top right corner of her page, not bothering to watch Crabbe and Goyle stumble over their excuses, grunting even more than usual between slightly coherent words, or the magazine close and levitate to Professor Malfoy's desk, where it was swiftly swallowed by the bottom drawer. Instead, she amused herself by drawing a host of geometric shapes which held no use nor meaning. She just let her quill roam free until, inkless, she was doing nothing but scratching at the parchment.

Picking up her wand – nine inch, ash wood, dragon heartstring - from the desk top at her side, she whispered a charm directed at the parchment, causing the shapes to whirl and dance together, and created a number of distorted patterns. She was told it was how wizards like Braque created their artwork and became famous in the Muggle world. Narcissa wasn't convinced, since her father liked to tell her all sorts of stories to keep her happy by making her feel special, but liked the effect anyway and, fairly skilled at charms, she found it simple. Almost nothing pleased her more than to impress friendly acquaintances that would set fire to their parchment should they try the same spell themselves.

She liked being the only one.

"As I was saying," Professor Malfoy continued stiffly, after issuing two detentions and flaring his nostrils dangerously, "I will not accept any failures. Anyone to not pass my examination will not go on to the proximate year. Instead you will be held back and redo the entire course with the fourth years." Again, his eyes swept across the room. They settled on Narcissa who, at the end of the middle row, could find this understandable, but he had a certain pointedness in his gaze.

She lifted her head off her hand to stare back, her blue gaze wondering up her Professor's angular, rather aesthetically pleasing face to meet his eyes, accentuated by his high cheek bones. As always on the rare occasion when she fixatedly looked at him eye-to-eye, she noted how very grey his eyes were. Like today's sky. Or the lake. But much more beautiful. And lacking a giant squid.

As he turned to the blackboard, Narcissa decided that grey wasn't such a bad colour after all.

Funnily enough, vampires were not the most interesting things to learn about. Narcissa found herself completely zoning out, watching Professor Malfoy's mouth move for the hour and letting the Ravenclaws, more renowned for their cleverness than herself, answer all the questions and scribble the notes. Though she could hardly say she was the only one. Most of the Slytherin girls had their heads in their hands, staring rather dreamily – placate expressions with sewn on smiles and wide eyes and fluttering lashes. Even some of the boys were staring at the Professor's hair for the entirety of the lesson – how the acidic green of the torches, burning endlessly in their brackets, caused a dancing shimmer on his blonde locks which would no doubt elicit even the rapt attention of an ADHD suffering house elf let free in a clothes shop.

She looked down at the end of the lesson to realise that she had written nothing but the date and her dancing shapes. Her quill had been poised over the parchment all lesson, blotches of dark ink staining the page above which the tip of her unused feather had been positioned. _Damned Professor,_he's _the reason I haven't done anything for five years._

She glanced slyly at Maurice's parchment and noticed that she hadn't even stopped staring at the teacher yet, eyes still glassy. Narcissa jabbed her unceremoniously in the arm with her quill, eliciting an indignant whine from Maurice, but neither made any further comment as they began to get ready for departure.

She rolled up her parchment and dumped it into her school bag – a Hermes. Deep green snake skin, probably cost more than most people's entire house, a large bow adorning the front of it, chosen to match her Slytherin tie and skirt and the bow not dissimilar to the small ones which decorated her white socks. – and quickly did the same with her quill and pot of ink, taking care to cork the latter properly.

During the hustle and commotion of the bustling classroom, Professor Malfoy had taken his seat at the front of the class. A board rubber worked of its own accord behind his head, rubbing out the page number and subject, the chalk shakily rising and writing the necessary information for the next class. Narcissa watched as he idly brushed the chalk power off his desk, looking quite reproachfully at it as though wondering how the chalk dare leave its distasteful residue of its inferior self over his belongings. He then reached down, opening his top drawer, and picked out a quill. Of course, like everything else, it was more than overly elaborate. Huge, more than likely plucked from a hypogriff, if not a highly genetically mutated owl (or peacock? Naricissa mused), and pure white. He dipped it in black ink and because scribbling on a piece of parchment in front of him.

"Homework," he declared, not looking up from his parchment, to a soft ripple of groans through the class, "an essay on the life of the vampire, why they pose a threat to wizards and the correct ways to protect oneself against them. Three rolls of parchment, for next week."

"But Professor!" a Ravenclaw girl Narcissa didn't care enough to know the name of protested, "it's the first day back!"

Professor Malfoy looked up, locked eyes on the girl. For a second Narcissa thought the girl was about to get a serious berating, which she would have rather enjoyed to watch. Instead he smiled quite patiently, condescendingly. His head tilted good-naturedly, looking politely interested. "I had heard Ravenclaw had the brains, but didn't believe to this extent. Well done."

The girl flushed.

The Slytherins didn't try too hard to stifle their various chortles and giggles. For their head of house, all was forgiven (for now, until they realised they still had an essay to write). Even Crabbe and Goyle, who had been sulking for the entire lesson, brightened up and wheezed out a few breaths which resembled the laughter of a Neanderthal, remembering why Malfoy was their favourite Professor.

Face like thunder, the silly little girl slung her bag over her shoulder and stalked from the room – slow enough for Narcissa to notice and turn her nose up at her scuffed, clearly rather cheap shoes, however – followed by a murderous group of Ravenclaws.

Professor Malfoy had long since returned to writing and, assuming they were dismissed, the rest of the class followed suit. Maurice sauntered off in order to find her, sickening as it was to Narcissa to quote it, 'one true love', leaving Narcissa at her desk. The youngest Black carefully shouldered her bag, rearranged her tie, her skirt, bending over to pull up a sock before she could leave the room. Well, she had to look presentable. She eventually joined the line of students forcing their way out of the classroom door, behind the two chastised boys to whom the Professor next spoke: "Master Crabbe, Master Goyle, I want you in here tomorrow night for those detentions or I'll start planting Play Witch in your dormitory." Again, he didn't look up from his parchment. The two boys grunted and shuffled from the room.

Narcissa was about to follow them, hand on the door frame. "Miss Black," came the cool voice from behind her before she could reach the corridor beyond, however, "a word, please."

Narcissa stopped, hesitated momentarily, turned, raised an expectant eyebrow. Since the Professor made no other movement she approached his desk, letting the door softly close behind her. "Yes, sir?" she inquired politely, holding her hands demurely in front of her and tilting her head in questioning. A trick she had learnt to use on her father when she was in trouble. Look innocent.

Neither made any other sound for quite some time, save for the scratching of the man's ostentatious quill forming just as ostentatious handwriting. Narcissa found herself transfixed by the production of such elaborate and ornate letterings from those deft fingers, and she also noted that, as usual, the hand holding the parchment steady, his left, displayed no rings. The only other sounds were the soft swishings and splutterings of the chalk as it wheezed over the blackboard and the idle chatter of the portraits around the room. She thought to clear her throat, but decided it would be improper – rude – for a young lady, and waited patiently.

Eventually, he finished his final sentence, put his quill down, interlocked his fingers and turned his head to survey her. His eyes searched her face, found her own, and he sighed quietly. "Miss Black," he repeated, with quite the resigned expression, "show me the notes you have taken down today."

Narcissa stared at him. Cast her eyes downwards, over his cheekbones, down his neck, coming to a halt when she was staring at the dark wood of his desk. She knew she should not have averted her eyes, but she could hardly show him the nothingness she had done that lesson. Her eyes searched the plainness of his desk, seeking out something to concentrate on.

The patterns in the wood were boring. She could not focus on them. Her investigatory gaze moved towards him open top desk drawer. _Oh, what have we here. A number of quills identical to the one on his desk, of course. Spare, tattered copies of text books, naturally. Chalk for when that one gives out, which sounds like soon. But… what are they?_ Narcissa squinted so better to see the little white box, the firelight making it hard to see the delicate golden writing. She was conscious that she was still under her Professor's scrutiny, but she could not help her curiosity now. She leant down a little so better to read the box. _…Vanilla truffles?_

She recoiled with a start when the drawer was slammed shut, gulping back a small cry and staring back at his face, albeit not necessarily his eyes.

"Miss Black, I think it would be in your best interests to… serve a detention with me. Tomorrow night. So that we may go over the topic studied today."

Had Narcissa the energy to have a tantrum, she probably would have thrown one right there and then, regardless of the portraits on the walls watching their every move or the fact that he was her teacher. As it was, she decided that the orange and glass of water she had consumed for breakfast were not substantial enough for a midday tantrum, and lunch would have to be had before she could stamp her feet about it.

The hourglass on the Professor's desk seemed to perfectly understand Narcissa's mood, however, and mimicked it for her; all of the sand flumped at once from the top dome into the bottom, the glass seemingly gone for an instant to allow it to do so.

"Sir, please don't," she pleaded, though with no conviction. She knew that when Professor Malfoy decided something, it was fairly final. "I'll work harder in class. It was just I-"

"What do you have to show for your past five years in my lessons, Miss Black?" came Professor Malfoy's biting retort, cutting her off with a stern tone. She bristled, feeling tears of annoyance and indignation already sting the sides of her eyes. His tone softened somewhat. "You are a very bright witch, Miss Black. Professor Flitwick tells me that you are very productive in his class. Listen closely and actually _do _the homework set." He picked up his quill, returning to his parchment. "I would like the same devotion from you." He paused a moment. "It will not be an official detention. More like extra lessons. Do not worry, Miss Black. It will not affect your report." His eyes narrowed as he studied his own handwriting. He murmured the last part in a hushed voice, as though she were never meant to hear it: "Merlin knows you cannot leave with a worse report than either of your sisters, in any case."

She opened her mouth to retort, to say something, anything, in their defence, but again, he cut her off. "You are dismissed." She hesitated, mouth slightly agape, before shutting it, looking rather disgruntled to say the least. She turned on expensive heel and stalked out of the classroom, being very careful to slam the door behind her.

Corridors unsurprisingly but mercifully empty for the most part, for everyone would by now be situated in the Great Hall, feasting, she made that her exact destination, praying to some heathen deity who clearly hated her that someone had saved her a seat, or that enchanted ceiling would be screamed off.

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><p>In the classroom, Lucius scanned the room once to make sure there were no stragglers hanging around, hiding under tables or staring at his display of a fully grown bufflemorphkin skeleton. Listening not very hard at all confirmed his suspicions that Miss Black was storming down the corridor.<p>

Trying to ignore the fact that she had looked particularly pretty when she was angry, Lucius scanned through the letter once, reading from an outsider's point of view. No. No way to decipher it. if Miss Black had been reading it she would have not worked it out, and nor would the 'greatness' that was Albus should he intercept it.

He dipped his quill in the green ink to his left side, signed his name at the bottom of the parchment in overly elaborate, slanted, curled and obviously well practised writing, before rolling it up and tapping it once with his wand, which he unsheathed from his cane. A wax seal formed on the parchment, the letter magically bound. Only the recipient would be able to open it.

Lucius rose from his chair, opened the nearest window with another flick of his wand and whistled once. A great beat of wings and within moments his eagle owl, well-built and conceited as its owner, was at the window sill, shaking its ruffled feathers and fixing Lucius a wide, amber-eyed stare.

The blonde moved gracefully over to the bird, tying the letter to its leg, and muttering to it, "You know who to take this to."

The bird made a soft noise, before it beat its wings once and took off, soaring over the grounds of Hogwarts and soon disappearing past the canopy of the Forbidden Forest.

Lucius watched it depart, one hand on the on the windowsill, the other gripping his wand tightly, all the way until he could no longer see the elegant creature. It was a while, still, after it had gone that Lucius turned away from beyond the classroom, eyes fixing on the chalk which stuttered and stumbled over its words now, no longer being able to form a few coherent letters.

Leaving the window open, Lucius approached it, like a very large cat would a very tiny bird, and snatched it from mid air. It struggled in his fingers, clearly trying to get back to writing, but it had outlived its purpose. Its jerking movements between his fingertips were completely futile, for he did not even have to hold hard to keep it his captive. Pathetic little thing.

He threw it into the air, aimed his wand, carelessly swished and the chalk was instantly obliterated into a billion powdery pieces. He stepped back slightly, making sure that the residue would float down onto the floor rather than on his silken robes, his expression unchanged. As though he had done little more than ask about the weather, Lucius used his wand to open his top drawer, rummage around for the new pieces of chalk and charm a long, unused piece into replacing the redundant one. It got straight to work, much more quickly, more efficient, without coughing its remnants everywhere.

Sometimes change was for the best, Lucius convinced himself, with a none too small, self-satisfied smirk. Especially when some things were so easy to replace. Or would not be missed at all.

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><p><strong>Thank you for reading thus far. c:<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**First, apologies for being a long wait for chapter 2: A-level exams are getting in the way. Though I did it as quickly as I could (sitting at the back of a Panic! at the Disco gig writing this, which I consider dedication, but I don't like the band so that's okay).**

**Secondly, I received a question on how old Lucius is for the last chapter (with thanks to Ceciilee for bringing this to my attention) and have decided that, due to the nature of this fic, I'm going to leave that up to your imagination; obviously he'd probably be about 25+, but what one reader considers acceptable may make another uncomfortable. In my mind's eye he's near the age he is in the books/films (because he's beautiful) but I know that may be too drastic for some people since Narcissa is, what, barely 17, so I'll neglect to mention it and you can make it up yourself. c:**

**Thirdly, thank you to all the people who reviewed/added this fic to their update alert. You make it all worth it. :D**

**Hoping you enjoy.**

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><p>It was safe to say that, for the rest of the day, Narcissa Black was not best pleased. That evening, in the common room, she was still fuming, though was calm enough to explain her displeasure towards a certain Professor Malfoy in a more dignified manner than she did at lunch; luckily, Bella had kindly saved her a seat in the Great Hall after she had stormed out of the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom (that or people other than Rodolphus tended to give Bellatrix a wide berth, so she had space for her petite little sister on one side of her) at the Slytherin table, in which she ate the equivalent of her weight in salmon sandwiches and chocolate éclairs. Fully sated, and with the energy for a tantrum, she screamed rather loudly at Rodolphus who has given her an 'are you hungry?' look from the other side of Bella, causing the Great Hall to descend into near silence. Even the Gryffindor table, on the opposite side of the hall, turned to stare, thinking that the verbal onslaught was a late arriving howler.<p>

For the rest of the lessons throughout the day, nobody had spoken to Narcissa for fear of her biting their throat out (though Professor Slughorn had commented on her stony, 'if-only-looks-could-kill' expression with, "cheer up, Miss Black. It may never happen" in his overly jovial manner. The look she had turned upon him was enough to vaporise his smile and make him take a step back in recoil, before rather shakily going to help someone with their Divisibility Potion), and at dinner she forked at a piece of chicken moodily before being instructed to the common room by her sister, lest Professor Malfoy notice the murderous glares he was receiving from the youngest Black, up at the teacher's table.

Andromeda had been the only one in the common room, save for Severus (though that was nothing new, he was always in that corner, brooding over some book or another), when Narcissa gave the password to the portrait guarding the Slytherin common room. She kicked it when it did not open fast enough for her liking, the snake present in the painting most probably hissing some Parselmouth profanity, but she really couldn't care any less.

"Bad first day back?" Andromeda had inquired levelly, looking up from her star charts which she had spread out over the largest of the tables in the common room, a number of candles hovering around her, glowing with the same green light that the rest of the torches in the dungeons emitted.

"Yes," Narcissa had huffed, before delving into a fully fledged rant about how she hated Professor Malfoy and his beautiful face (substituting beautiful for stupid, as she figured it would not help her case).

Andromeda, who did not adore Defence Against the Dark Arts as much as the oldest Black and so was not biased towards the Professor's every word, had sighed softly, giving her little sister a sympathetic stare. "Well, I suppose there is nothing that can be done," she shrugged, moving a pair of compasses which stood on their points of their own accord to measure the distance between Sirius and Mars, "what a Professor says is final."

Narcissa punched the arm of the armchair that she had flopped into at the end of her rant – wishing she didn't, since the dark mahogany was so hard that all she managed was a shooting pain up her hand. She was so sure that Andy, the more logical of Narcissa's two sisters, especially when it came to Professor Malfoy, would have a solution to get her out of the detention. Or at least calm her down.

"Maybe if you… appealed to his better nature, he'd let you off?" Andromeda suggested nonchalantly, after Narcissa had stopped breathing obnoxiously loudly through her nose to inform anyone in the vicinity that she was displeased.

"Such as what?" she muttered moodily. She picked a piece of fluff off the arm of the chair and threw it off as though it were not good enough to occupy the same space at her.

"Well," Andromeda continued in her matter-of-fact voice, keeping completely offhand, "appeal to something he likes. He, as a _man_," she continued, more pointedly at Narcissa's rather blank expression. Andromeda sighed. "I shouldn't be telling my little sister this, but just… undo a button, hitch your skirt up, wear your hair down, works a treat." It was a single statement. The most simple thing in the world.

Narcissa paused a moment before one side of her mouth curved upwards. Amused, she asked, "and this is how my rebel of a sister gets out of her detentions?"

Andromeda's mouth mimicked Narcissa's. "Of course, but it has never worked on Malfoy. Just like father he is not pleased with my fraternising with my own Gryffindor cousin." She frowned. "But the youngest and most radiant sister of the Slytherin dream that is Bellatrix may get away with it more easily. Besides" – Andromeda's eyebrow flicked up momentarily at Narcissa, a playful gesture, before she returned to her star charts as though she had nothing else to say – "I've heard that Malfoy has a thing for blondes."

Again, Narcissa paused, but her smile merely widened – still within the realms of a proper, lady-like smile, however. Maybe she had worn her hair up a little too much over the past five years. Dressed a little too conservatively. Nearly every other person in her year had someone with them – even Walden McNair had Maurice! And look how disgustingly soppy and supposedly in love they were, fawning over each other at every opportunity. Enough to make one sick that only Crowley had ever _really_shown any interest in her, except for when Godwin Keyes had run around the common room in second year trying to kiss her (she had hexed him enough to make Bella proud). And even _Bella_ had Rodolphus. The psycho, rather 'acquired taste' of a girl had someone who could endure her insatiable thirst for power and violence (which even spanned all the way to the bedroom, or so Narcissa had heard, though she didn't really want to).

_Speak of the devil_, she thought dully, as the portrait swung open and a cluster of Slytherins, having finished dinner, appeared through the doorway. Andy busied herself with her charts, quite happy to ignore Bella and the rest of the Slytherins with whom she felt she did not belong.

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong, Cissy?" Bellatrix inquired in an overly condescending tone, lilting and mocking, yet somehow still immensely frightening, as though if her sister did anything but that there would be a few corpses. She took a seat on the sofa near Narcissa's armchair of choice, looking at her expectantly. Rodolphus sat beside Bellatrix, surreptitiously putting an arm around her and being completely ignored. Narcissa repeated the events of her day, omitting the word 'stupid' from the recital of her considerably calmer rant. She guessed that Bella would have been a lot less inclined to agree with her if Narcissa insulted her favourite teacher; as it was, she needn't have bothered tip-toeing, for Bellatrix merely stated that "well, he had good reason."

Narcissa's stony expression returned, her bottom lip jutting out. She should have known better than to expect any form of sympathy from Bellatrix, the one whom the only lesson she didn't have a terrible report in - behaviour, participation, grades and all – was Professor Malfoy's.

"He's not a bad guy," Rodolphus agreed, shrugging, "he's pretty okay when you get him alone, without an entire class. I sometimes go and talk to him for the hell of it."

Resisting the urge to say something horrifically stinging to Rodolphus, for she had already screamed at him that day, she turned to the emerald flames of the common room fire, watching it lick the dark hearth vivaciously with its acid coloured glow. Good thing too, for Bella and Rodolphus had begun to engage in a scene of would-be affection had there not been so many teeth involved. Narcissa, however, was far too engaged in thoughts of what she would do: shirt, with one button undone, as Andy had suggested – not too much; skirt, one of her shorter ones which exposed a little too much of the milky flesh of her thighs; she knew a simple charm for creating ringlets which she could use in place of the loose ponytail or ornate bun she usually sported her blonde locks in. Her brow furrowed, her finger tracing little circles on the arm of the chair in concentration, trying to imagine herself. If she wore her tie loosely to expose her neck, long socks - green, with a small ornate button to match the rest of her uniform – and her shoes with a small heel. Another frown. Maybe that was overdoing it. But the vanilla perfume she had received from her Aunt Walburga for her birthday the previous year, and lay unused at the bottom of her trunk. That may come in handy, she decided, thinking back to the vanilla truffles in Professor Malfoy's drawer. _I'll appeal to his better nature, alright._

By the time she had planned her entire outfit for the next night, she found that all that was left of her sister and Rodolphus happened to be a pile of robes on the common room sofa and a man's shirt at the bottom of the stairs to the boy's dormitories, clearly flung unceremoniously by its owner, too preoccupied to pick it up.

A rolling of eyes.

Narcissa heaved herself out of the chair, picking up her bag which had lay untouched all night at her feet, quite ready to get out of the now crowded common room for bed herself. Alone. Glaring over her shoulder at the first years that swarmed upon the chairs and sofa around the fire, thinking they were untouchable now the bigger, scarier older students had vacated, Narcissa ascended the stairs to her own dormitory.

A sigh of relief came from the blonde Black girl as she entered the familiar confines of her dormitory, shutting the rather heavy wooden door behind her. She retrieved her wand from her bag. "_Accio_ perfume," Narcissa murmured, so not to disturb the people behind the curtains which were closed around two of the five beds – she noted Maurice's empty bed and fleetingly wondered if she was off in a spare classroom with Walden, per chance. There was a few moments of muffled thumps from inside the elaborate trunk at the end of her four-poster, meticulously carved snakes in deep brown wood with the initials D.R.G.W.R in the top right corner (her mother's school trunk), before the vanilla scent came flying out of the raised lid, coming to a faithful stop in front of her face like an over excited niffler. She plucked it from the air, sprayed a little, smelt it. It was quite overpowering, but then what else does one expect from Aunt Walburga, whose smell never failed to remind Narcissa of musty curtains and moth balls and doxie droppings.

Sighing, she kicked off her shoes before sitting at the edge of her bed, one foot positioning itself behind with other with such a practised primness it was merely second nature to sit like that, placing the perfume on her bedside table, soon joined by her wand. She then allowed herself to fall into her nightly ritual; she removed her bun, exhaling a sigh of relief as the tightly pulled hairs found release and pooled around her slender shoulders. She then, without the use of magic, removed her tie, securing it around the top right bedpost of her four-poster, and unbuttoned her shirt, doing the same with her skirt. She found magic to be useless for such an activity – she liked the feeling of taking her clothes off after a long day. It was therapeutic, one might say, like shedding all the stress and tantrums of the day and throwing them on the floor for the house elves to have clean by morning. Her bra and underwear soon joined the pile of clothes, followed lastly by her socks, which were always final to be removed.

Languidly, she slipped on a silken nightgown over her willowy figure, quite pleased that she did not have to rush herself every time she did so. Not now that Marianne Towers, a seventh year, had recently taken inspiration from the Gryffindors (though, of course, no self respecting Slytherin would ever admit that) and employed a very powerful extension of _glisseo_to turn the stairs into a slide should a male try to ascend them. She was clearly also quite sick of the boys entering her personal space in search of their girlfriend and setting eyes on her while she changed. There were rumours that a teacher had performed the enchantment, so Marianne was not harassed by said disgruntled girls with boyfriends, but a select few could read the smug expression on her face every time a male was prohibited from reaching a girl's bed, of which Narcissa was one of the few.

She yawned quietly, drawing the curtains around her bed and slipping under the jade sheets. Before she drifted into sleep, she went over the plans for the next day's detention in her head – she would have an hour or so in between her last lesson and detention to get ready, and did not have Defence Against the Dark Arts in the day to make anything awkward. Everything would go to plan.

Everything would… go…

Everything…

The endlessly burning flame in the paraffin lamp at her bedside extinguished of its own accord.

* * *

><p>Around twenty one hours after Narcissa had drifted off, Lucius decided that his day had not been eventful. He had been teaching for the entirety of it, which of course was his job, but Merlin did it get tedious; a class of first years, sixth years, seventh years and two classes of fourth years. The first mentioned happened to be the most wearisome, for the few students who were not quaking in their boots at the sight of him were attempting to be rebellious. He soon quashed any second-day disobedience with a stern look, nostrils flaring, his voice staying dangerously low and silky – threatening – which was infinitely more effective than raising his voice, he had found some years prior. They also did not yet know to write the date in the top right corner of their parchment and underline it. And they were a mixture of Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, thus creating the biggest group of insubordinate, holier-than-thou, ignorant 'Muggle-borns' he had ever had the misfortune to lay eyes on. His seventh years, however, made up for it just a little – Miss Black (Bellatrix, that is) staring up at him with attention bordering admiration (which never failed to surprise him since Miss Andromeda Black, who happened to have been in the previous lesson, spent all of it with her feet on the desk at the back of the classroom, idly scribbling on a piece of parchment), Master Lestrange with a number of scratches quite visible over his neck, looking pleased with himself all lesson, next to Master McNair who appeared likewise. And the arguments that rose between the Slytherins and Gryffindors in said class never failed to amuse him; for example, Master Potter attempting to talk over Lucius, and Miss Black casting such a powerful silencing charm that he had to be escorted to the hospital wing by a condescendingly sympathetic Master Lupin, assuring him that his voice box had not been destroyed. Lucius had done well in appearing not to be amused, and took ten points from Slytherin, though he intended to give them back to his house at the first opportunity.<p>

All in all, however, the day had not been a good one. And, back in his classroom, after having just finished his evening meal (medium rare steak in a rich sauce, though not nearly rich enough for his liking), the thought of having to spend a prolonged night at his desk in order to discipline unruly students made him feel quite a lot like handing in his resignation.

He pulled his chair closer to his desk, sinking back into the leather. Lucius already had a few essays on vampires handed in from the Ravenclaws in his fifth year's lesson on the previous day, and set to marking them, being sure to dip his quill into the red ink in order to be as harsh as possible. He braced himself for a long night, deciding that maybe afterwards he would take a long, deep bath in the teacher's bathroom. It would be rather pleasant.

"Enter," he barked harshly at the knock at the door not long after he had begun, not even bothering to look up from the rolls of parchment in front of him. He recognised the shambling shuffle of Masters Crabbe and Goyle, and waited until he had heard the scraping of chairs being pulled back, the creaking of them signifying to Lucius that the two boys had resumed their seats. "Master Goyle, to the back of the room, please." A pause. "Now." There was a sigh, another scraping of a chair on the hard floor of the classroom, the clumsy thumping of exasperated feet and the sound of a different chair, further away, creaking under the boy's weight. "You will write lines: 'Play Wizard is for my dormitory in the dead of night with the curtains drawn and not Professor Malfoy's classroom'." To the sound of silence Lucius glanced up to the two boy's blank faces and sighed in vexation, flicking his wand at the chalk on the desk beside him. It faithfully and steadily rose, writing out the line on the board for Masters Crabbe and Goyle to copy since they never would have spelt it right if they _could_ remember it.

_Oh yes, it's going to be a long night._

The shuffling of the students, taking quills and ink and parchment from their bags, was of little interest to Lucius, of course. He returned to his marking, underlining words which were even slightly grammatical incorrect, writing notes for improvement in minute handwriting at the side of the parchment, resentfully staring at passages which he could find no fault with. At the end he would leave a comment – usually simply "good" for a Ravenclaw, and a grade – before moving onto the next. His brow furrowed, taking into consideration all the points made in this essay – was there enough relevant context to make it an A? His working out of a grade for this first essay, however, was disturbed by the soft clearly of a feminine throat from the classroom doorway. His eyes flicked over to the doorway for a moment, before returning to the essay in front of him, only to look back and settle on the figure in the entrance. Lucius' eyebrows raised involuntarily, slowly sitting up in his chair. "Miss Black," he stated, though it sounded somewhat like a question. His eyes roamed quickly over her, as much as he tried to stop himself. She was leaning against one side of the doorway, staring at him with polite interest. Her tie was loose around her neck, her top button and another below it undone, exposing a sliver of the pale skin of her chest. Miss Black's skirt was short, her socks long, drawing attention to the rather captivating but teasingly small – _what am I thinking? It's_too much _flesh on show -_expanse of the milky skin of her thigh. Her hair was loose (had he ever seen it like that? No, he didn't think so. Not cascading around her face in curled rivulets like that), the blonde ringlets framing her face being a welcome change from five years of the variety of tight, strict coiffures in which her hair was always captured. Lucius liked her hair a lot more how it was as she stood before him; such a beautiful chaos.

Conscious of the time he had spent looking at her, Lucius cleared his throat. "Come in, Miss Black," he responded coolly to her expectantly raised eyebrow. His voice was completely level, he was pleased to hear.

"Good evening, sir," she trilled pleasantly as she entered the classroom, shutting the door behind her. He breathed in as she approached his desk; smelt the unmistakable scent of vanilla, radiating from her. From her pale, exposed neck, elongated as she held her head high, confidently. Lucius watched her as she walked past his desk, observed the gentle movement of her hips and the high class manner in which she had obviously at a young age been taught to carry herself with. Doubting that this high class and unquestionably expensive teaching included her dressing in such a manner, and guessing that such an outfit was the by-product of the mind of the middle Black sister, his eyes set on Masters Crabbe and Goyle as Miss Black wandered across the classroom to take her seat. They had stopped writing and were quite clearly leering at her, not attempting to hide it in the slightest. Their eyes wandered over her lithe, petite body, looking positively ravenous, like they would crush her at any moment. The surge of protectiveness that Lucius felt in that moment, a sudden rush of an innate possessiveness to guard the vulnerable child that was Miss Black, he put down to being the girl's teacher, and snapped "Lines, you two," at the two boys. They reluctantly returned to their parchment, leaving Lucius to return to Miss Black's pale face.

"I trust you know why you are here," he told her simply, ignoring the sly glances that the two boys were shooting at her at every opportunity that they thought they would not be noticed. He could guess Miss Black's immediate response; '_because you're an elitist son-of-a-bludger'_, or words to that effect were probably rather likely, but she swallowed whatever insult had been stinging that tongue of hers, ready to be spat out like venom.

"Because I didn't take notes in class, sir?" she inquired dryly, yet with the same lilt her eldest sister adopted in an attempt to get her own way (before things began to get smashed). Lucius noted as she crossed her legs under the desk, her skirt riding up just a fraction. He locked his eyes defiantly on hers, so not to be lead into temptation. Her ample eyebrow lifted somewhat at his hesitation to reply.

"Yes," he confirmed, with a curt nod. He hunched over the parchment of the next essay he had to mark, staring down at it rather pointedly. "Now I would like you to read the chapter on vampires and make notes to be used in your essay, which still has to be handed in by next week." With either having no more to say on the subject, Lucius renewed the red ink on his quill which had dried during his immersion in Miss Black and began to scribble notes on the parchment, listening to her rustle around in her bag to find the necessary equipment.

He could still smell vanilla on the air.

Perhaps it wouldn't be such a bad night after all.

* * *

><p>It was gone eleven o' clock before Lucius looked up from the parchment he was marking. He had graded all the essays he had been handed and had spent some time looking over important documents to occupy himself while the students conducted their punishments. The occupants of the portraits around the room were snoozing soundly; even Eossa Sakndenburg (a sixteenth century headmistress of the school, Lucius had been told) who had come to visit was leaning against the edge of her frame, snoring none too quietly. Masters Crabbe and Goyle had stopped writing quite a while ago, whether from exhaustion at the complexity of the words or that is was just past their bedtime Lucius couldn't be sure. He consulted his hourglass, and stifled a yawn, deciding that it was about time for him retiring to his own quarters. "Master Crabbe, Master Goyle, you may go," he rather suddenly proclaimed, the abruptness and volume of his speech in contrast with the previously near silent classroom startling the two boys. They grunted, slowly lifting themselves from their chairs and shuffling to the front of the room, depositing their parchments, littered with scrawled lines, on the edge of his desk. His nostrils flared when he noticed they had not underlined the date, and quite a lot of the spelling was incorrect despite the fact that the line had been written out on the blackboard for them.<p>

_Incompetent ingrates._

He waited until they had mumbled a goodnight and exited the classroom, the door closing softly behind them, before looking back to Miss Black.

She was bent over her parchment, her slender shoulders squared, biting her lip in concentration. Her _Guide to: Surviving and Combating the Dark Arts – 1970 Edition_ was open in front of her, her quill moving effortlessly across the parchment on which she scrawled her notes, a perfect rhythm of dipping her quill in her small pot of ink and writing, dipping and writing.

Lucius slowly rose from his chair, flexing his fingers, aching from being curled around a quill for so long. He reached for the brooch at his neck which held his silken robes in place, unclasping it. The snake uncoiled itself and lay in a smooth s-shape, ready to curl up the next time he donned the robes. He left it draped over the back of his chair, the material brushing the floor.

"So, have you succeeded in what I asked of you, Miss Black?" he inquired, unbuttoning and subsequently loosening the cuffs on the white shirt he wore beneath his robes, over this a waistcoat. He surveyed Miss Black as she looked up, casting a gaze over him that Lucius was fairly sure was not remarkably dissimilar to the one he had bestowed upon her as she had stood in the doorway.

She nodded slowly, watching as Lucius approached her desk with a somewhat deliberate slowness. He pushed his hair over his shoulder, cocked an eyebrow as he studied her, moved gracefully towards her before coming to a halt at her table. From above her, looking down, he could see the gentle swells of her breasts down her shirt. He didn't react in any way to this new finding, instead leaning down to look at her parchment. The scent of vanilla was stronger with each inch he moved towards her, thus he moved perhaps a little closer than necessary. Were it customary for a teacher to bury one's face into a student's neck, breathing said student in, Lucius probably would have done it there and then; as it was considered fairly inappropriate by most standards, he guessed, he instead placed his hand over Miss Black's, moving it from her parchment so that he would pick it up himself. He noted how tiny her hand was in comparison to his lengthy, dextrous fingers, again experiencing that strange strike of possessiveness, as he picked up the page and leant down to read it.  
>His eyes darted over the notes, and he nodded in approval here and there. She had written nearly four rolls of parchment, which Lucius was impressed with. "It seems you do have the capabilities to do what I tell you then," he airily remarked, more to himself than to her. Again, Lucius could see her swallow back a biting retort. <em>Good girl<em>, he thought, being sure to keep this firmly a verbalisation of his inner monologue.

"Yes, Professor, I am," she muttered.

"Then," he leant down, forearms resting on her desk, eye level with her, close enough to smell other things over the vanilla; the scent of recently used shampoo, the vapours of a potion she had been creating that day which were devilishly hard to rid oneself of the smell of, her skin, "you can do my essay for next week and keep up in class. Isn't that right, Miss Black?"

It looked like she was gong to answer, but physically couldn't. Or was too preoccupied.

Lucius' eyes travelled over her face as he waited for a reply. He saw no Muggle make-up as was beginning to become something of a trend in Hogwarts, nor did he see any hints of an enchantment. She was naturally that pale, her lips naturally tinted that colour, her face naturally the most perfect angular shape.

_Merlin's beard, she's beautiful._

At his closeness he could count the number of lashes around her eyes, feel her moist, rather minty breath from her slightly parted lips, see that delicate blush spreading across her cheeks. Something was pushing him forward, closer, he suspected it was Peeves but no, the poltergeist couldn't be that silent, and there was nothing else in the room but that; just silence and Lucius and Miss Black and just a few centimetres separating their lips and-

_Spoke too soon,_ was Lucius' first thought as the classroom door suddenly swung open, in an exasperated growl, moments before the feeling of panic kicked in. He straightened up as though he had been shot in the chest, entire body tense and poised for fight or flight, unaware that it would soon succumb to the bullet.

"Forgot my bag," Master Crabbe grumbled as he wandered back into the room, quite unaware of what he had just interrupted. Lucius did not want to look down at Miss Black, his eyes trained on Master Crabbe's ambling back to his desk, slinging his bag on his beefy shoulder and returning back out into the corridor, leaving them again in the near silence of the room, save for the muffled mumblings of the portraits' slumbering inhabitants. A few moments of rather awkward silence, Lucius staring at the closed door.

"You are dismissed," he murmured after an overly prolonged and pregnant pause, turning his back to her to return to his desk. He hoped his face didn't appear as heated as it felt to him. Lucius sat down, concentrating hard on not looking up at Miss Black who was making small shuffling noises as she hurriedly packed away. Pretending to be immensely absorbed in the parchment in front of him, he listened closely as Miss Black crossed the room, stopping momentarily in front of his desk as though to say something, before briskly exiting the classroom.

The door closed softly behind her.

Lucius leant back in his chair, covering his face with his hands. His fingertips made circles on his temples, as though in an attempt to bring more logical thoughts to his whirring mind. _What did I almost just do?_Yes, it may have been a long time since he had been that close to a woman – no, girl, she is a _girl –_but surely that was no reason for him to lose control in such a way. But that blush. The look in her eyes. Surely that was more than just… something? Oh, Merlin, Lucius didn't know anymore.

From somewhere above him, an owner of one of the portraits snored so hard that they woke themself up. There was a moment or two of confused noises before the heavy breathing, and snoring, continued. Lucius pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. Yes. Yes sleep seemed like a good idea. Maybe in the morning he could simply forget all of the events of tonight. All of them. Hell, maybe in the morning everything would have just not happened, and he would have not felt anything that he just did.

He rose from his desk. He would not allow her to be the one who could destroy everything.

* * *

><p><strong>OKAY it may not seem like it now, but this fic is actually going somewhere (plot child is still growing). I just think that, y'know, this has to be taken slowly. And I'm a cockblock (sorry, Lucius).<strong>

**With much love to you if you review, but still lots of love for reading thus far. c: Thank you!**


	3. Chapter 3

**First things first - to all the people who have reviewed/read when I've sent you the link and forced you/added this fic to their alerts – thank you. You're fantastic. c:**

**This chapter is not all my own – dun dun dunnn! There is a bit in here which my amazing girlfriend (emphasis on the premodifying adjective) wrote upon reading about how Professor Malfoy set an essay on vampires, because she's my own personal little Cissa (and has too much free time). It was too fantastic not to include, so the essay in this chapter is by my Rainbow (included with her permission).**

**As always, I hope you enjoy.~**

* * *

><p>Narcissa made three mistakes the next morning: one was that she decided to dwell on the night before, as she had before she fell asleep. Professor Malfoy had been so close – she could smell his cologne, see patches of skin on his cheeks which would need to be shaven this morning, stare at her own imminent blush as it crawled across her cheeks in the deep grey of his eyes. The very thought made her stomach made her stomach lurch and leap up into her mouth, but it was not the sickening feeling of falling down the stairs. It was more a flutter of huge butterflies and more excitement than fright. <em>He was so close<em>.

The second mistake was that, as a consequence of these thoughts, Narcissa had spent a lot of time in bed, pondering. So much so that, by the time she'd stopped thinking of her teacher, let her blush fade and risen from her mattress, breakfast was almost over. This vexed her, for without substantial sustenance how was she to get through the day? She'd have to try not to have a single tantrum until lunchtime, which was fairly difficult with her timetable for the day – Defence Against the Dark Arts to begin, which in itself was not a good lesson to start the day for anyone, not even taking into account how awkward it would be for her, specifically, around Professor Malfoy. This was followed by History of Magic which always bored her into a stupor before everyone else to the extent that, in four whole years and two days at Hogwarts, Narcissa Black had not taken a single note. And after this, double Potions.

The third mistake was, after dressing and making herself look more presentable, back to her hair charmed into a bun, tie secured and buttons firmly fastened (except the top one, obviously), she had wandered, yawning, into the empty common room.

She acknowledged Severus who looked up from his book momentarily to return the gesture, and sat down in the armchair by the still glowing embers which would soon be charmed back into a fire. These events in themselves were not the third mistake. The mistake was when she, bored, picked someone else's abandoned copy of the Daily Prophet off the round table near the chair (it probably wasn't abandoned, most likely had been sent up to the common room by someone in the Great Hall so that they could read it later without having to carry it around, but finders keepers) and began to read.

The first page was of little interest. A new quidditch team, the Chudley Cannons or something ridiculous, making the quidditch league. She turned her nose up at the group of barely pubescent boys grinning up at her and waving their brooms around, from the text noting that, though the picture was black and white, the colour of their quidditch robes was orange (just another reason to hate them. Distasteful, gaudy, imbecilic), and flicked through the paper looking for something more interesting. A goblin getting engaged to a mermaid, the Minister for Magic planning a holiday, a particularly sarcastically worded article by Anita Skeeter about centaurs getting equal rights with a supposed interview with one of the creatures themselves that Narcissa suspected was completely made up, for she doubted Mrs. Skeeter would ever want to get that close to a half-breed by the looks of these lexical choices, a coupon for Madam Malkin's, boasting a free set of school robes with every two bought.

Deciding then and there that she would never be going to Madam Malkin's again, the mangy good for nothing junk shop, Narcissa let out another bored sigh, almost closed the paper, when something suddenly caught her attention. DARK CULT THREATENS MINISTRY.

It was easy to escape notice. Narcissa was surprised that she had even spotted it; had she not understood how things worked, Narcissa would have also been surprised how such a large story, surely, could be laid out as it was. As it was, due to her father's teachings of cynicism, she understood perfectly that the tiny article without a picture, crammed into an inconspicuous space beside a large advertisement for broom polish, was never meant to be read by members of the public, else it would cause widespread panic and hysteria. She also knew that is was the Ministry who regulated the printing of the Daily Prophet. And they wouldn't want anyone thinking they were under threat, would they? Yet, if things escalated, they could say that they informed people of a risk a long time ago. It was a sly technique, but an effective one nonetheless. And since when were journalists anything but?

She read the article with considerable more interest than she had given the rest:

_**An anonymous source is rumoured to be menacing the Ministry, sending written threats apparently telling of a dark cult said to be in an attempt to come to power and overthrow the Minister for Magic.**_

_The Minister, who is unavailable for comment as he is currently planning a holiday with his wife in an unconfirmed location, allowed a spokesperson to speak on his behalf._

"_The threats are signed by a 'Lord Voldemort'," said the spokesperson, upon questioning, "which is quite obviously an alias. We do not yet know who this man is. The letters state that he is gathering followers. We have received information about these followers from a very reliable source - they are branded with a mark on their left forearm, supposedly a skull and a snake._

"_We ask members of the public to be on guard for any usual or suspicious behaviour in close friends or family members, including secrecy, disappearing for unexplained absences and wearing long-sleeved clothing. If anyone with this mark is sighted we ask that they are immediately reported, but not approached."_

Narcissa lowered the paper onto her lap. Surely it was some form of hoax. No one would dare challenge the Ministry, let alone some clearly deluded man calling himself a lord. Surely no one would be that reckless. That stupid.

She closed the paper and put it back on the table, eyes wandering around the common room. Severus was gone. A pause. Narcissa muttered a word that would make her mother cry out in horror, before leaping out of the chair, running up to her dormitory to get her bag and running down again, sprinting to her Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. Her mind wasn't really focusing on the article, but it was still there somewhere, lingering in the depths of her subconscious. Had she known it would affect most of her life she may have given it more consideration, but she had never been one for divination.

She needn't have run. When she arrived at the classroom only a handful of students were sitting at their desks, most of them Hufflepuffs. Peeves had obviously been in in the night, for the line 'Play Wizard is for my dormitory in the dead of night with the curtains drawn and not Professor Malfoy's classroom' had evidently been neglected to be rubbed off, and had been peeled off the board letter by letter. It was now rearranged to state 'I, Professor Malfoy, read Play Wizard in my dormitory in the dead of night with the curtains drawn. And in my classroom' with the extra words and punctuation filled in by Peeves' scrawled handwriting. There was a line through the middle of the sentence, where the chalk was nearly not visible, as though the poltergeist had suddenly remembered whose classroom it was and knew that Professor Malfoy could easily have words with the Bloody Baron, but had thought the joke too funny to be rubbed off the blackboard any more than he had half-heartedly done so.

The portrait of Limebert was still chortling heartily at the blackboard when Narcissa sat down, and continued to do so until Professor Malfoy walked into his full but nearly silent classroom. He read the line on the board once and made it non-existent with a single swish of his wand, pulled out of his cane, completely unabashed.

Sheathing his wand and resting the cane on his desk, the silver snake head facing the students, Professor Malfoy stated simply, "Get out now, Peeves, and I may not go to the Baron."

There was a wailing from the chandelier, which shook violently, before the poltergeist appeared from being invisible and pelted the class with pieces of chalk. He swooped down, causing a Hufflepuff boy to shriek and cover his head with his bag, before zooming out of the classroom through the closed door.

Professor Malfoy sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "Right," he muttered, taking a new piece of chalk from his desk drawer and charming it to write relevant information for the lesson on the blackboard. In the few moments between Professor Malfoy letting the chalk levitate out of his hand and beginning to talk, his eyes flicked over to Narcissa. She met his gaze with her own, held it for an instant, before looking down at her parchment. She was desperate to fight the heat spreading across her cheeks, the great beating of wings which took place in her stomach. She wondered fleetingly if he experienced the same thing when he looked at her, but his voice was level and cool as normal; "Today we will be discussing acromantulas."

It was still going to be a long lesson.

* * *

><p>Luckily for Narcissa, it was a Friday, therefore at the end of the lesson there was an entire weekend where she could shut herself away in the common room and not have to face, approach or acknowledge the existence of Professor Malfoy in any way, shape or form. Save for at meal times, but she would be far away enough from him to endure it. Given the right amount of time she was sure she could control that rising blush that threatened to taint her cheeks at every thought of her teacher, and two days could work wonders.<p>

So she told herself, though on Sunday night the mere mention of Professor Malfoy made her stomach convulse. In fact, it seemed to have gotten worse if anything, though that may have just been indigestion from the past three days of rushed meals, trying not to look up at the teacher's table. She had even gone to Hogsmeade the day before in order to try and distract herself from a certain blonde male, but found herself staring wistfully at the vanilla flavoured assortments of Honeydukes, as though imagining the chocolate and vanilla and all varieties of other delicious things melting in someone's mouth, softening on someone's tongue, white and pure, the texture of silk, swallowing… She had torn her attention away before her flush could become too apparent, but Maurice was too busy hand-in-hand with Walden to notice anyway.

Narcissa sighed. She had an essay to do for… a certain Professor and a research assignment from Professor Slughorn on a Prateriterseum Potion to be concocted in the next class. Since the afore mentioned 'next class' happened to be on the next day, and she had most certainly not done the assignment, Narcissa was quite happy that she had stocked up on crystallised pineapple.

She did, however, need to do her essay for Professor Malfoy. She didn't want any more detentions. It may not have been due in until Wednesday, but she had a fairly strict policy on doing homework on weekdays; unless it was urgent it did not get done. That was how it worked. Unless of course it was Potions, in which case she asked the resident fanatic, Severus for help, though that night he appeared to be deep in concentration in the corner of the room, scribbling minute annotations in a slightly worn copy of a textbook, so Narcissa felt bad approaching him (she could hazard a guess at the size of the writing he was scrawling in the margins judging by the way he was squinting in order to see, and was so close to the pages that the tip of his nose almost brushed the paper).

Another heavy sigh, considerably more resigned, almost defeated, as she performed a rather complex charm to make the parchment levitate, steady and unsupported, in front of her. When she put her wand down, it remained there. Ignoring the few looks of envy at her charms skills, Narcissa pulled the parchment closer to herself as she reclined back in the armchair in front of the common room fire. She placed her ink on the arm of the chair at her right side and dipped her quill into it. Two other rolls of parchment lay, ravelled, beside her, ready to be used when she completed the first roll. She had every intention to fill all three with relevant information about vampires, things which would please Professor Malfoy, the notes she had taken in the detention a few days previous resting on the arm of the chair at her left side. She wrote her name in the top left corner. A good start. Then the date in the top right corner, which she carefully underlined. Brilliant! Now, the rest should be simple.

By the time she had written an introduction the common room was considerably emptier, the fire beginning to burn out, causing stretched, deep shadows to creep and crawl over the gloomy dungeon walls of the common room, the remaining students looking deathly pale and rather like sallow corpses in the dim, acidic light. Bellatrix was sitting near Narcissa, Rodolphus near her as always, inclining his body to hers childishly as though in need of security and reassurance. Maurice sat opposite Narcissa, on another armchair, reading Witch Weekly with a somewhat disinterested scowl, her eyes scouring the pages unseeingly.

Narcissa let out an impatient noise at the parchment. She seemed to think that snarling and glowering would cause it to show her what to write, would guide her hand, or would at least strike her with some sudden strong inspiration of where to begin. As it happened (ironic really, since nothing did), she was not struck with any sudden hand of fate, rather any source of hope she may have had for writing this essay flat-lined like the monitor of an elderly dragonpox patient in a St. Mungo's bed. She let out a frustrated, guttural noise, quite inappropriate for a young lady, and snatched the pathetic excuse for an essay from midair, scrunched it up and threw it into the fire. It was instantly consumed by the flames, the emerald light flaring up for a moment at the new source of fuel, before the fire settled back into its dull crackle.

"So, what is your essay on, Cissy?" Bella inquired coolly, having intently watched her sister.

"Vampires," Narcissa muttered, cursing Professor Malfoy for all he is, was, and will ever be, trying to ignore the impending mutated butterflies in the pit of her stomach in an attempt to be angry at him.

There was an airy interjection of, "You know vampires are beginning to set trends nowadays?" from Maurice, who was still boredly flicking through Witch Weekly. At the silence which greeted her mix of a declarative and interrogative Maurice raised the issue of the magazine to show the two Black sisters the picture of the woman on the front. Rodolphus was too preoccupied with sucking Bella's neck to notice, funnily enough.

On the front was a female, skin deathly pale as though she were animate in a thanatoid coma, cheeks sunken and eyes dark, but still with a captivating, mesmerizing beauty. Her eyes were brown but tinted with red, as though the essence of hell had frozen within her retinas; the red of danger, of seduction, of passion. She was moving into a whole host of seductive poses, fangs bared in the perfectly practised replica of a smile which only a model was blessed with.

"Her name is Countess Elisabeth Nodosheen," Maurice continued at Narcissa's blank face, "she's come out of quite a few centuries of hiding, because Muggles have created a…_film_ about her recently. Countess Dracula, or something primitive." Stating the emphasised word as though she didn't know what it meant, but not asking should it make her seem ignorant or less educated then a Muggle, Maurice sniffed, turning her nose up. "Apparently half-breeds are becoming more accepted." Another sniff; the clear indication of the stereotypical Slytherin supremacist who believed solely in blood-purity and pedigree wizards.

Narcissa, however, was intrigued. She knew that vampires were something of legend, a creature which existed only in something her mother begrudgingly read to her before bed. They were something to be feared, something to always keep a clove of garlic on oneself for. To see one on the front of a prosperous magazine…perhaps Professor Malfoy was wrong about his teachings on vampires.

Narcissa opened her mouth to reply, only to shut it again when Walden crept up behind Maurice. His hands found her shoulders and she instantly fell limp as a ragdoll, her head turned up to bestow upon him a look of utter adulation. His hands trailed down her upper arms, down her forearms. Maurice took his hand and looked up at him in adoration, dropping the issue of Witch Weekly onto the coffee table with no more regard for it, captivated entirely by the man – _boy –_who drew her from her seat. She allowed herself to be led by him up the stairs into the boys' dormitories without question.

Narcissa tutted, rolled her eyes. _How weak. _Bella, still ignoring Rodolphus' advances, leant forwards and picked the copy of Witch Weekly up off the table, passing it to her sister. "Here, Cissy, this may give you some inspiration," she tittered. She had meant it as a joke, though her cold, lightless eyes held no sign of mirth, which made her wide smile seem all the more insane.

Taking the magazine, however, Narcissa thanked her sister, leaning back into the armchair. Well, the article on vampires actually held quite a lot of information. Completely irrelevant to what Professor Malfoy asked to be given to him, of course, and therefore unusable, but interesting nonetheless.

…Or was it unusable? She scanned through the article. It was just another viewpoint on vampires - the same topic, just a different approach. A less narrow-minded perspective. It may not have been what Professor Malfoy wanted, but surely the individuality were she to write an essay based on this information would give her extra credit. But she didn't want to appear insubordinate anymore, did not want more detentions.

…Or did she?

Again, she thought back to the detention just a few days ago. The smell of his aftershave. The heat of his skin, mere centimetres away. The anticipation of his lips touching hers: tentative and cautious; brushing; testing; tasting. What if there was a next time..?

Resolute, putting the copy of Witch Weekly on top of her class notes, Narcissa began again.

* * *

><p>The first thing that Lucius thought when he entered his fifth-year class on Monday afternoon was that they all looked as tired as he felt, dark-eyed and dishevelled. He had barely slept over the weekend, spending quite an inordinate amount of time in the teacher's bathroom until Minerva got quite cross and demanded he get out so that she could get in. It was relaxing, peaceful, in there, the swimming pool sized tub filled with water at just the right temperature, a fine mist descending over the water when the right tap was pressed. He knew he could simply lie in the water, perfectly alone to his thoughts. The enormous snake carved into the stone wall clarified this (the wall opposite the entrance into the teacher's bathroom was a colossal expanse of rock in order to house the just as massive bathtub. Its surface was meticulously carved into the likenesses of animals; a lion, raven, badger and snake from left to right, respectively), its eyes glowing a bright emerald to signify that he had locked the door, and was alone in his private paradise. One of the perks of being a head of house – had he just been an ordinary teacher he would have not had the privilege of being able to lock the bathroom, and so would have been confined to the rather inadequate bathing quarters adjacent to his bedroom. Well, inadequate to him, yes, since the Olympic-sized swimming pool made him feel much more at home.<p>

He had washed his hair numerous times, swam lengths when he got weary, spent most of the time sitting at the edge of the tub, elbows propped up against the side, head leaning back. How soothing the water was, it almost felt like it was rubbing away the tensions and aches and pains that came as standard with the job. He had let his eyes slide shut.

Funny, it almost felt like hands. Massaging hands, untying the knots which lay under his skin, teased and released the tension he was experiencing. Little hands, dextrous fingers sliding over his shoulders, down his chest; the warmth at his back was a body, at his shoulders ringlets of long, blonde hair; the flush which tainted his cheeks was her kissing his face, breathing her hot breath, slightly minty, her hands sliding lower down his abdomen, leaning back into her, her lips at his neck, whispering, pleading…

In retrospect it was quite lucky that Minerva had gotten annoyed at Lucius' overuse of the bathroom at that point, for he was fairly sure that, had he not been interrupted, he would never have been able to be in the same room as Miss Black again.

"Continue your notes and work on acromantulas," Lucius commanded simply to his class, eyes sweeping the room, avoiding looking at the desk at which sat Miss Black, "and if you finish, begin to evaluate the advantages and disadvantages of having these creatures in society, taking into account their dangers and magical properties. If anyone has any vampire essays could you please hand them to me?"

A few students picked up their bags to retrieve their essays as instructed, holding them in the air. Lucius collected them in, thanking each student silkily and quietly in turn. When he saw that Miss Black was holding three rolls of parchment up – saw her face – he felt a jolt somewhere between the neck and knees, though couldn't quite place the origin of it. Remaining collected, he moved over to her desk, taking the essay from her. "Thank you, Miss Black," he murmured. She didn't look up at him.

Ignoring Miss Parkington's rather plastered-on smile as she stared listlessly at the ceiling, Lucius strode back to his desk, preparing himself for a lesson of marking essay after identical essay.

The first was Master Firkin's, a Ravenclaw – as always, all that had been asked of him; garlic, the crucifix myth, blood sucking menace etc etc. The second was Master Goyle's – Lucius had certainly not expected much from him in terms of anything, and he was definitely not let down. It did not take him long to mark the minimal scrawls of incoherent words and incorrect spelling, writing fail perhaps a little larger than necessary at the bottom of the page. The third – _ah! Miss Black's._ But of course it was. Around the page lingered the unmistakable scent of vanilla. Probably not the most incongruous of things to many people, probably not even detectable to most people, but Lucius smelt it all too clearly, inhaling a little deeper than normal to do so. It did not take him long to realise it was not a typical essay:

_Narcissa Black __September 6th 1972_

_In an attempt to stop discrimination and prejudice against vampires, paragraph twelve of the Guidelines for the Treatment on Non-Wizard Part-Humans stipulates, amongst much circumlocution and ministerial jargon, that the killing, murdering, slaughtering and maiming is an illegal offence. If any person is so caught hunting and/or killing vampires is a punishable, and therefore illegal, offence. Consequently, this essay will not include the correct ways to protect oneself against them, since it juxtaposes the main pretence and principals of the Guidelines. This act against discrimination has not proved effective as of yet, as centaurs and merpeople refused the same status of 'being', and therefore the same guidelines and laws, as they did not wish to be associated with either vampire or hags, when in my opinion a centaur can be a lot more volatile than mildly bloodthirsty half breed of vampire._

_A vampire bite, although incurable, will not bring a fatal death upon the person the bite is administered. A vampire's bite is for the primary function of blood sucking, however, on occasion, it has been known for vampires to sire victims and create them as their 'children' - a way of 'death' Witch Weekly rates as one of the best ways to go. When compared to a werewolf, a vampire is quite tame, especially when you compare the affects of lycanthropy to that of vampirism._

_According to the ministry, the half-breed poses no threat to the wizarding world; we perceive vampires to be a threat because of the ways Muggles have taken, and bastardised, the half breeds of our world. From their stories, it can be said vampires are always the antagonist and they are a danger, however, they are rather civil beings and are certainly more magical than Mudbloods._

_Mudbloods and Muggle communities have taken well known Vampire figureheads of the wizarding world, such as Lestoat and Count Drakul and turned them into scapegoats and 'evil beings' which we need to defend ourselves against._

_Though, in wizarding history, there have been a few rogue vampires - Sir Herbert Varney, known for killing women in London in the 1880's - most vampires, including Lestoat himself, are quite placated considering the other half-breeds they contend with in the Guidelines for Treatment of Non-Wizarding Part-Humans. Though flamboyant in their ways, their dress and bathing in blood of occasional victims in belief it would keep the vampire healthy and beautiful, no person - wizard, half breed or Muggle - has been found guilty of such a thing and therefore any discrimination against the breed is largely misplaced._

_The life of a vampire is not the most interesting life to lead. Though half-breed, unlike the werewolf and hag, they are not similar to the other 'beings'. Where a vampire is not as dangerous as a werewolf, they, however, are not as blessed, if you could call it that, as to have only one day a month where they are afflicted by the symptoms of vampirism. Day walking is a dangerous pastime for the beings and they are less inclined to be seen out in the sun due to the negative affects it has on their skin. However, as any Witch Weekly reader would know, there have been a few sightings of daywalking vampires; apparently it has become some sort of adrenaline rush - or as they call it, a sport - for the beings and half breeds._

_Much to Mudblood amusement, Vampires have a strong aversion to the pungent smell of garlic and will go out of their way to keep at bay of it. However, the smell of garlic to vampires is not dissimilar to the smell of Mudbloods to Purebloods who understand the importance of blood purity. But for some reason, the Muggleborn wizards do no understand this comparison nor do they seem to take it well. Much like a vampire most likely does not take well to being a scapegoat of evil. At least vampires have an ounce more magic in them than a Mudblood._

_Though the life of a vampire is considered quite dull, they have proven to be flamboyant. They have proved to be well socialised, their parties being attended by social elite and well documented by Witch Weekly. It is only occasional that reporters not return from the parties. Nevertheless, the flamboyancy of the parties have been known to trigger fashion trends amongst wizards and witches alike, making Vampires one of the most fashionable peoples according to Witch Weekly. Also from the same source, 'big' hair is a new fashion statement we could be thanking the half-breed for. It has already caught on with many wizarding folk, as well as Muggles, and is being hailed as the big trend for the forthcoming autumn/winter seasons.*_

_In conclusion, it's obvious that vampires do not pose such a threat to the wizarding community. As it is, Mudbloods and Muggles prove to be more a threat, diluting and polluting the Pureblood of certain pure families. Whereas, vampires will only create half breeds and other filthy beings, this is still much better than Mudbloods. The Muggle population proves to be much more a threat to true pure blooded families, more so than vampires, as vampires are a whole lot more avoidable._

_*Professor Malfoy, you would not benefit from trying the big hair trend, it would not suit you in the least. Don't embarrass yourself by trying and trust me on this judgement._

Lucius paused for a moment. Then another. He put down the essay, picked up the one beneath it, and didn't even bother to look up when he declared, "Miss Black, detention. Tonight."

* * *

><p>"Would you care to explain yourself?" Professor Malfoy inquired, eyebrow raised, as Narcissa resumed her seat at her desk that night. He was sitting in his chair behind his desk, his robes draped over the back of it, cuffs of his white shirt already unbuttoned, his waistcoat black with delicate silver embroidery, tonight. He looked expectant. Narcissa flicked her charmed curls over her shoulder, shrugged carelessly.<p>

"It's what you asked for, sir. An essay on vampires," she replied matter-of-factly. She cast a glance at the portraits around the room. They were all empty except for one of a portly man Narcissa didn't know the name of, already asleep against the edge of his frame, his monocle still jammed against his eye.

"I asked for an essay on the life of the vampire, why they pose a threat to wizards and the correct ways to protect oneself against them. Not a review of Witch Weekly and an attack on Mu- Muggle-borns."

Narcissa's eyebrow rose at what appeared to be a stutter on Professor Malfoy's part. But she knew what he was about to say, and did well to hide a sly smile. "I don't know what you're talking about, sir."

Professor Malfoy surveyed her from his leather chair, her essay clasped within his deft fingers. "'However, the smell of garlic to vampires'," he quoted, reading from the parchment, "'is not dissimilar to the smell of Mudbloods to Purebloods who understand the importance of blood purity. But for some reason, the Muggleborn wizards do no understand this comparison nor do they seem to take it well'." He tried so hard to keep the amusement from his voice, and for the most part succeeded, but there was a small injection of his entertainment which he could not suppress. She was a different one, alright.

"I was making a valid point that vampires aren't as horrible as Mudbloods. They're a slight more magical and don't stink up the room as much."

"Miss Black, you should not speak in such a way about Muggle-borns." The way he emphasised 'Muggle-borns' did nothing to help his case; it felt like poison on his tongue to refer to such scum as that rather than the name they deserved – and only Miss Black had had the audacity to use, in all of his five, or was it six?, years at Hogwarts - and he was fairly sure that that showed in his voice.

"Well, how does one repel a vampire then?"

"You know this very well from the notes you made in your last detention, which clearly had no effect on you."

"Have you ever met a vampire?"

Professor Malfoy hesitated. "What does that matter?"

"How do you know those defensive measures work? And what is the point in writing an essay on them?

"Because I am your teacher of Defence Against the Dark Arts. The clue is in the name, Miss Black." He rose from his seat, clearly trying to be assertive over her. Narcissa noticed how much the light from the torches shone on his hair, even more so than usual. "And the essay was to make sure my students were _listening_."

Narcissa's eyebrows raised mockingly, her tone lilting and condescending when she pressed on. "What are the chances of me ever meeting a vampire then?"

"The chances of a question on them coming up in your O.W.L.s is fairly high, so stop second guessing me." He was approaching with that deliberate slowness again, eyeing Narcissa with an intensity that caused the strange sensation in her stomach tenfold. She ignored it.

"A question on vampires is hardly as scary as a sister who would happily set you on fire, sir. Perhaps you aren't teaching the right things." Professor Malfoy was still approaching. "See, I don't find the curriculum comprehensive enough for its name. I haven't learnt anything past what to do when faced with a grindylow when it comes to defending myself." He was standing over her now, his eyes locked on hers. Narcissa stared back, neither wavering. "Perhaps I should tell my father. I am sure he would move me to a different school, one with a more appropriate and far-reaching curriculum in Defence Against the Dark Arts."

Professor Malfoy leant down. Placed his forearms at the table. Didn't break the unwavering gaze they shared. "Shame, it would be a great loss to the school. I told you that you are a bright witch. I believe this is conclusive evidence." He rustled the papers in his hand as though to acknowledge her essay, but did not want to tear his eyes from hers. His voice became lower, both in tone and in volume. It was almost a purr. "Though, for some reason, it almost seems like you _want _to get into trouble."

"Why ever would I want to do that, sir?" Narcissa heard herself reply. He was too close for her to register anything else other than an automated response. That aftershave, his aftershave, the warmth of his skin, his proximity, oh _Merlin_.

A smirk pulled at one side of Professor Malfoy's lips. "If you did not you would not have written this… strongly worded essay, nor would you have asked quite a lot of the things you just did or dared answer back to a teacher. Something is making you want to be here. Care to tell me what it is?" The last inquiry was little more than a whisper.

Narcissa could feel the blush which she had been fighting for so long creep across her cheeks again, painting them a pale pink. He was leaning closer, and so was she – close, so close, lost in his scent of masculinity not entirely masked by expensive aftershave and shampoo. The 'you' which was stinging her lips as a response to his question was lost as his mouth brushed against hers; he didn't need to hear it. He already knew. And any meaningless thing in that moment was lost, cast aside as unnecessary, the only thing being needed the feel of one another's lips.

It was as Narcissa had predicted. Tentative and cautious, at first. They tested each other, tried out the softness of one another's mouths, experimented with who would make the first move to push it deeper. Narcissa was surprised how soft Professor Malfoy's thin, pale lips were, moving in closer to make sure she had felt them right. Her eyelids fluttered shut, quite happy to drown in a dark world of his scent, the feel of his mouth moving against hers, coaxing something deeper from her. She responded encouragingly, her hand instinctively reaching up and fitting the shape of his cheek before she could stop herself. Her professor replied likewise, one arm lifting off the desk between them. His hand found her shoulder, slid upwards to cup her neck, gently stroking, before travelling further up into her hair, fingers tangling into the soft, luscious rivulets.

By the feelings in Narcissa's stomach the gigantic butterflies had tripled in size and were about to burst out of her chest – she supposed it would not be a bad way to die, and Witch Weekly had been wrong in claiming death as an indirect result of vampirism was one of the best ways to go. If there was one way, this had to be it. However, realising she had not breathed since their lips contacted, Narcissa was the first to pull away, desperate for air. She may have decided it was a good way to go, but she did not want to pass out from it. To give the elitist man before her the self-satisfaction of thinking he made her swoon would do nothing to help his ego, which could possibly already crush a small child. Her eyes fluttered back open, gazing into Professor Malfoy's eyes with a mixture of apprehension and something she would soon come to identify as desire. She bit her lip.

There was another pregnant pause, in which time Professor Malfoy seemed to be having some sort of internal conflict, his brow physically furrowing, before the man finally removed his hand from Narcissa's hair and stood. She was pleased to see she was not the only one that was flushed.

"You may go," he murmured after another moment or so, depositing her essay on her desk and turning away from her. It was a while before she thought to even flinch. Her hand, which had fallen to the desk when Professor Malfoy had straightened, raised itself to her own face, her index and middle fingers touching her lips as though daring to believe what had just occurred.

She continued to sit in such a way as Professor Malfoy returned to his desk, sat down, placed his elbows on the wood and rested his forehead on the tips of his outstretched fingers. He was staring down as though the shapes within the mahogany were the most interesting things he had ever seen.

It took a snuffling snore from the single inhabitant of the portraits around the room before Narcissa rose from her chair. She picked up her essay and hurriedly exited the classroom, having not brought a bag or any stationary with her to cause her to pack away or weigh her down. As she left, she glanced over her shoulder at Professor Malfoy. He was still staring down at the desk.

* * *

><p>Lucius did not move for quite some time, until his hourglass made a sound not dissimilar to the clearing of a throat in order to inform him it was some unholy time in the morning and he should get to bed.<p>

Begrudgingly, he rose from his chair, unsheathing his wand from its cane and waving it once to extinguish the torches in his classroom. Plunged into darkness, he returned his wand to its holster. He knew, just knew, that damage had been done now. Irrevocable damage. Damage that could threaten more than his job at Hogwarts. Things were no longer going to plan.

_What have I done?_

* * *

><p><strong>You will have to excuse, dear reader, if there were mistakes in this chapter. It is now 4am and I have been working on it for the past five hours or so. I was determined to get an update done, and here we are.<strong>

**With an inordinate dedication to you – reviews are much loved, as always, but thank you for reading thus far (and with thanks again to Rainbow). c:**


	4. Chapter 4

**I haven't particularly got much to say for this chapter. I apologise if it goes rather OOC (I had troubles with this one) and thank you again, faithful readers and reviewers. And ~this~ is why the fic is rated M. Bad things begin here. If you don't like, I suggest you stop at the kiss.**

**If you do like then by all means carry on, my friend. c:**

**Hoping you enjoy.~**

* * *

><p>When Lucius woke up the next morning, it was fair to say the prospect of the new day was certainly not a good one. Tuesday, in his opinion, was always the worst day of the week. That day when one is tired from Monday and Saturday still seems millennia away. It was especially hard for him to open his eyes, since guesses could be hazarded that he had been in bed for just two hours or so; he had left his classroom only to pace his bedroom until around four in the morning, and had drank in an attempt to calm his reeling mind and stop the mental images which did things fairly far south that he had not experienced with such little prompting since his own school days.<p>

The liquor cabinet in the bedroom of Lucius Malfoy took up quite a percentage of the wall adjacent to the door. Inside was a by no means small assortment of bottles, filled with many varieties of liquid; different colours, textures, intensities. Most on the top shelf were covered in dust, untouched by anyone for some years, vintage goblin-made wines and liquors of which one glass was worth more than most people's house. The lower layers, however, were much more recently bought and clearly less treasured.

Each shelf was dedicated to one type of liquid; for example an extensive range of elven-made rich red wines stood a shelf above a number of different bottles of white wines (the containers of the former mentioned drink considerably emptier than those of the latter). Below those a number of unopened authentic French champagnes from numerous different regions, and below those an assortment of firewhiskey bottles which, cumulatively, easily outnumbered the other types of drinks and took up two shelves. All types of firewhiskey: Bourbon, Tennessee, Canadian, English, German and so on and so forth. The glasses at the bottom were similarly arranged; in size and width order, the smallest and thinnest at the left side of the cabinet, should someone be looking at it, with the tallest and widest at the very right. Miniscule shot glasses, stout brandy glasses, bucket-like goblets, thin champagne flutes so delicate it looked as though they would snap even if blessed with the lightest of touches. All of the best quality crystal, gold and jewels in the case of the goblets, of course.

The doors of the cabinet were open, and there was a bottle-sized hole within the shelves, a glass also missing from the uniform arrangement at the bottom. The missing glass was in the shape of a rounded square, the bottle taken from one of the fireswhiskey shelves, and they currently resided together on the small, circular table by the fire (green, of course, since Lucius would never want to habit anywhere but the dungeons in which he found himself so at home in his school years), beside this a wide armchair. It was plush, covered in deep green leather, a pouffe in front of it. It was in this chair that Lucius had sat the night before between pacing, his socked feet on the pouffe, pouring a particularly large amount of a particularly strong brand of Finnish firewhiskey into the glass, staring into the fire.

He asked himself repeatedly what had happened. Why did he show such weakness? Why did he, a teacher, find Miss Black so…attractive? He was hardly the type to 'fall' for a female, as the lack of a wedding ring suggested, but just _looking _at her recently made him want to be. She was not the girl he had taught for four years. She was quickly turning into a woman. It was hard to miss; the curve of her hips, the swell of her chest, the way she knew exactly what buttons to press to get a man desiring her. In his mind's eye he could see her, and with every sip of firewhiskey the image got clearer; standing in front of him, slowly – teasingly – removing her clothes, straddling his waist in the armchair, kissing him, his lips, his cheeks, his neck, her hands stroking down his chest, lower, his eyes closing…

At that point, Lucius had begun pacing again, desperately not thinking of Miss Black. This routine of sitting and pacing carried on until he collapsed, exhausted, on top of his four-poster bed, not even bothering to get under the sheets, let alone draw the drapes around his bed or remove his clothes.

_Maybe in the morning it will never have happened._

In the morning, however, it had happened, and he was paying for it tenfold. His blood-shot eyes opened blearily, trying to establish where he was, head throbbing and hair long locks of hair plastered to his face in a rather undignified manner that he hoped no one would ever see. He had awoken – no, was woken up – at six-thirty am, according to the pocket watch still attached to his waistcoat, though he would not have chance to look at that until at least seven. As it was, the unceremonious sound which had roused him from his alcohol-induced, dreamless slumber was more important to shut up.

So first things first.

Groaning softly, Lucius rose from his bed, holding his head. The sound that woke him sounded like a giant slamming its fist into the wall of his room, but he soon found the source. Staggering over to the window, he let the tapping owl fly into the room. Being an English September morning, it was still dark outside, mist covering the castle in a choking embrace. Hazy sheets of rain fell silently onto the grounds, the light kind that quickly soaks someone should they have the audacity or stupidity to step foot out of the door.

The bedraggled bird perched on the back of the leather chair, pushing the letter around its leg out of the way so that it could do so, ruffled its feathers indignantly as though in an attempt to dry them. The owl then surveyed Lucius with wide, accusing eyes, as though assuming the physical state of the man to be self-inflicted and, resentfully, Lucius had to agree (his wintry eyes flicking over to the very nearly empty Finnish firewhiskey bottle as he shut and locked the window, remembering how, at the start of the night, it was full). Cursing the vile liquid, he ignored the unsympathetic amber gaze of his eagle owl, moving over to it with a marginal degree of more grace, having regained if only a little of his composure,. With some difficulty, he removed the letter from his owl and moved around the chair to sit in it – collapse or slump being more accurate terms for the manner in which he sat.

He unsealed the letter with a flick of his wand which was faithfully at the side of the armchair and opened it. Out of the ravelled parchment fell a newspaper cutting, clearly torn carelessly from the Daily Prophet. Lucius narrowed his eyes in an attempt to read it. He managed to focus on one letter at a time, at best, thus it took much longer than it should have to read the miniscule cutting – DARK CULT THREATENS MINISTRY.

Lucius did not really need this to add to his morning. He was exhausted, hung over, trying to control his libido and was now also worried. At the mention of a branding, Lucius' right hand instinctively twitched towards his left forearm. _How could the Ministry..? A reliable source?_

Eventually putting down the cutting, he turned his attention to the letter. Regretfully, the scrawled handwriting of this was barely bigger than the text of the newspaper cutting. It was shorter, though:

_They have someone on our inside. See if you can find out who the snake is._

_Carry on getting information: he will be planning._

_Find out his __weaknesses__. _

The letter was unsigned, but Lucius knew who is was from; he felt his stomach drop quite a few inches and noted how the final word was underlined so hard that the quill which wrote it had almost cut through the parchment. Sighing, he folded the letter, with the newspaper cutting inside it, and cast them into the fire. The parchment curled, blackened, shrivelled and was slowly consumed by the merciless flames. Lucius watched intently before dejectedly sighing. This was the point that he looked at his pocket watch – thirty-seven seconds past seven. He groaned, rubbing his dark eyelids with his thumb and middle finger. His owl let out a haughty hoot from above his head, the sound so loud in his thudding head that it caused him to wince.

Charms were needed before he could bring himself to rise from the chair. And black coffee before he could even consider facing the rest of the day. To look upon Miss Black, however, there would be no preparation for.

* * *

><p>It had been one week since the fateful Monday of Narcissa's last detention. It had been raining steadily all week which thrilled Professor Sprout ("It's good for the plants!") but did not have the same effect on any of the other members of the faculty or indeed the students, who were all rather grumpy. Professor Malfoy and herself had not been alone at all in the past week – heated glances had been shared across the classroom, yes, and gentle touches had been exchanged; his hand moving slowly over her shoulder as he moved behind her, bending down as though to help her do her work, for example, in which she would lean closer and breathe in his cologne. But despite subtle efforts to get another detention – speaking back to Professor Malfoy, sucking sugar quills in class, blatantly not doing work – Professor Malfoy had not risen to her bait, and she had not had another.<p>

She tried not to appear desperate to get an audience with her professor alone, again, but it was too much of a challenge, a fun game, to stop playing now. This, while balancing other O.W.L. subjects, was difficult however. How was one supposed to write the correct recipe for the Draught of Living Death when she was busy thinking of Professor Malfoy, his mouth, his smell? His aversion to her was understandable. He could lose his job, after all. But Narcissa was far too used to getting what she wanted as opposed to considering the dilemmas of other people. Especially when said other person clearly wanted the same thing as her.

Narcissa shifted in her armchair in the common room, attempting to get more comfortable. It was early evening, the time between dinner and collapsing, exhausted, in the common room, so there was plenty of students still milling about the corridors. She had consumed her food quickly, again, in an attempt to eat before and therefore avoid the gaggle of Slytherins asking why she was flushing so much nowadays, and to claim her favourite chair in front of the fire before she would have to argue with the first-year scum who would have attempted to obtain it first in her absence.

She sighed, wondering if the rain had stopped since she could no longer hear the dull, quiet patter of it as it echoed around the dungeons, idly loosened her tie and pulled up her socks (she had returned to her white socks with bows on). Her hair, which she had worn loose over the past few days in order to tempt a certain teacher, she pushed over her shoulder. It was straight today, perfectly smooth and silky, a chorus of all shades of blonde in the firelight.

Boredly glancing around, she noticed Tobias Crowley looking at her from across the sparsely populated common room. He did not look away when she stared levelly at him. There was a rather predatory look in his eye, though he did not approach. _Sizing me up, first. _She narrowed her eyes, glared daggers at him, and he finally looked away, resuming his conversation with Margarethe Zabini and William Nott.

Another sigh, more exasperated this time. She considered getting her parchment and class notes, but Narcissa was too restless to attempt homework. She knew this. An essay on goblin rebellions would not be greeted with a good reception, and completing the diagram of a snidget would be far too much for her to bear.

_What's happening to me?_

The portrait opened to let a number of Slytherins into the common room. They were rowdy, loud, having just heard the news of the first quidditch match of the term to be Slytherin vs Gryffindor in the next month or so, Narcissa deduced by the sound of it. She pursed her lips, annoyed, but at least they blocked her from Tobias' view – he had been casting her sly glances for quite a while, Narcissa suspected, since she noticed his eyes on her a lot after she had first seen him hold her in that predatory gaze.

Rolling her eyes bitterly, she reached down for her bag – only to find that it was not there. Her hand gripped at the very thin air, seeking the feel of the smooth snakeskin scales. But no. She looked down, scoured the floor around the armchair. Maybe it was on her bed? No, she had not been up there since lunchtime. Did she have it at dinner?

As she leant back in the chair, her hands covered her closing eyelids, rubbing them in agitation. In her haste to get to the Great Hall and eat before seeing Professor Malfoy, or face the other probing Slytherins, she must have left it in Professor Flitwick's classroom. She cursed Professor Malfoy in a hushed whisper, rising from her chair and being sure to slam the palms of her hands onto the arms of it as she did so to push herself up, making sure everyone in the vicinity knew she was displeased.

She was soon storming from the common room, her heavy footsteps reverberating thunderously around the cavernous dungeons. She ignored the indignant stares of other students as she pushed past them carelessly (causing a Ravenclaw to drop her colossal stack of books all over the Entrance Hall, but Narcissa was too preoccupied to notice). She expertly navigated her way up the shifting staircases to the third floor, her Charms classroom.

Empty. A quick look under her desk in the second row from the front; it was not there. The staffroom was three floors down, back on the ground floor, and, groaning in exasperation and cursing the entire second-rate, infernal school, Narcissa slammed the door and made her loud way there.

No more than a few minutes later, she knocked on the staffroom door with quite an obnoxious volume. The two gargoyles which stood guard outside turned their great stone heads to look at her.  
>"How rude!" exclaimed one, as thought in disbelief. Narcissa stared hard at the door.<p>

The other agreed. "Indeed, why if I were a teacher I would not respond to that. I would give the discourteous little ragamuffin a good old detention."

"If you do not shut up I shall hex you both into the next century," Narcissa muttered through grated, bared teeth. She did, however, wait another moment before tapping her demure hand more tentatively on the door, using the back of her fingers.

"Why not, we've already been here quite a few," chortled the first gargoyle, as it turned from Narcissa to face forwards again. The second joined in, as though they were sharing some hilarious private joke.

The door soon opened, Professor Slughorn standing in the doorway. "Was that you knocking like your life depended on it, Miss Black?" he inquired, an eyebrow raising as though in disbelief.

"No, sir, that was some boy. He was running off when I got here." The second gargoyle coughed; behind the minor fit Narcissa could hear the growl of "lies", so she quickly added, "I was wondering if Professor Flitwick was here."

Professor Slughorn, having immediately lapped up her untruth, smiled pleasantly at her and nodded once. "Why yes, Miss Black. One moment." He turned away, pushing the door shut just a little. "Filius! Miss Black wants to speak to you."

From behind the door were sounds which Narcissa's mind put actions to – the whistle of a kettle which she envisioned Professor Sprout at, the soft meow of a cat which in her mind's eye had markings around its eyes which resembled Professor McGonagall's glasses and was sitting on a cushion beside Professor Dumbledore, the soft tap was Professor Flitwick lowering himself from one of the staffroom chairs which was too high for him to touch the floor when he seated himself upon it. There was the sound of little legs shuffling and Narcissa directed her attention more floorwards, the door opening properly again to present Professor Flitwick to her. "How may I assist you, Miss Black?" he squeaked, looking up at her with polite interest.

"Do you have my bags, sir?" she asked, trying to keep her voice level. "Green, snakeskin, bow on it."

He shook his tiny head, the wisps of his hair flying about his face. The image struck Narcissa as a tiny man battling with a cloud as it tried to suffocate him, and she probably would have giggled had she not been so annoyed. "I gave it to Professor Malfoy" – Narcissa felt her stomach leap into her throat – "as he is your head of house. I am afraid he is not here at the moment – probably in his classroom."

She sighed. She had a Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson the next day, but her wand was in that bag. And it was a _Hermes. _She couldn't be without it. "Thank you, Professor," she murmured dejectedly.

Professor Flitwick gave Narcissa a bright smile and closed the door, leaving her alone in the corridor save for a few people lingering for as long as they could before retiring to their common rooms (probably in an attempt to annoy Filch) and the two gargoyles. Now Narcissa had time to stop storming around, she sighed and wandered over to one of the windows which lined the wall opposite the staffroom. It boasted a beautiful scene.

Though there was still a September chill in the air, it had finally stopped raining, the sun sinking beneath the Whomping Willow and creating dappled shadows stretching over the grounds, like slender fingers. The bright light hit the raindrops on the grass, the miniscule oceans which had collected on the fallen amber leaves on the ground around the bare canopy of the Forbidden Forest, causing a million reflections and flashes of light, like tiny diamonds had been scattered all over Hogwarts. The sky was a deep red, with streaks of pink cloud, wispy and delicate as lace.

Narcissa watched the sun for at least a minute, suspecting it would be the last sign of summer she would see for a long time, before departing to return to the third floor and Professor Malfoy's classroom.

* * *

><p>Lucius was alone in his classroom. He had skipped dinner to finish all the paperwork and marking that he had to do, and was occupying himself currently by straightening piles of parchment. The sunset outside of the window was overly bright, catching the raindrops smattered across the glass of the window and irritating his eyes, though the students ambling across the grounds like they had not a care in the world irritated him more. And that <em>groundskeeper <em>even more so, lumbering past Lucius' expansive view of the scenery from the window of his third floor classroom. That giant oaf didn't deserve to keep his mangy excuse for a life, let alone the keys of Hogwarts. Ridiculous.

Collecting the many pages of parchment on his desk easily in one large, slender hand, Lucius opened the middle drawer and deposited them inside, pleased that he had finally gotten through everything, _finally_, and could now relax. He leant back in his chair, breathing deeply and slowly removing his cloak at the silver snake brooch, draping it over the back of his chair as always. Unbuttoning his cuffs, Lucius allowed himself to think back, just a little. _This time last week was Miss Black's detention…_

He did not blush, but he felt an odd sensation in his chest and something a little further down, too. A soft but exasperated exhalation came from his flared nostrils. He was like a teenager again, and couldn't scald himself enough for it. All he had to do was _think_ of a certain Miss Black and his libido went through the astronomy tower. This made it very difficult to teach said girl, looking up at him with the same intense eyes he had met after their kiss, and also made things very awkward when having to look her two sisters in the eye.

He had done superbly, it must be said, in not rising to her attempts of getting another detention. His desire to get her alone in his classroom again was higher than she could ever know, but he knew it would just make everything worse. _Everything_. He had to keep his head low, had to follow the orders of the letter he had received six days prior. He could not fail. Better to just avoid everything to do with Miss Black for the next few weeks, and maybe she would get a boyfriend (Lucius ignored the strike of possessiveness – or was that _jealousy?_ – that struck his chest at the contemplation) and forget all about him and everything that had happened.

_Chance would be a fine thing_, intoned his inner monologue, reminding him that Miss Black's bag was currently residing under his desk, it having been thrusted into his possession by Filius (luckily, he had come to Lucius, therefore he didn't have to be seen walking around with a green Hermes handbag with a bow on the front. It would not help him). He guessed that Miss Black would collect it in the lesson on the next day, and so was alone to do as he pleased for the evening. Maybe he would settle down in his bedroom and have a nice glass of wine, red, and not think of Miss Black. Not think of her hands on his skin. Her lips at his neck. Her nails raking up his back. Her body, hot and flushed, moving against, into, with his, clothes disregarded and not given a second thought, gasping, moaning, pleading, his name.

_Merlin_.

Over-thinking of Miss Black, however, had rendered him incapable of doing quite a lot of things – he could not risk standing up for fear that someone would walk in. And his dilemma was fairly noticeable.

He let out a soft groan and inched his chair closer to the desk. Times like this Lucius hated being a teacher, hated how he was away from home for so long that a relationship with a woman was nigh on impossible to hold down. Hell, hated that a school was hardly the place to go out and find a one night stand. When was the last time he had been with a woman, or even _seen _an attractive woman? Minerva and Pomona just didn't do it for him.

Lucius slumped forwards onto his desk, his head in his hands, waiting for the source of his bother to fade away. By the sensations in his lower abdomen, the low burning of an insatiable masculine fire, it would take quite a while.

…Or…

He leant slowly into the back of his chair, eyes casting down to his bottom drawer. Cheeks tainting a soft pink, he scalded himself for even thinking of such things, but still his eyes remained on the sight of said drawer. He hesitated, waiting in silence for a moment as though attempting to stare out the handle, listening to the empty corridor outside for any sign of life. One. Two. Three. All was quiet.

Slowly, as though to not attract the attention of any of the portraits (who were currently gossiping among themselves, since Lucius had been refusing to talk to them in favour of doing paperwork) to what he was doing, he opened the drawer. Pushing a few confiscated dumgbombs and sherbet lemons out of the way, his fingers closed around the Play Wizard magazine which Masters Crabbe and Goyle had on the first day of term. He hesitated, deliberating between head and nether regions, before deciding, in this instance, the latter won.

Retracting his wand from its cane, Lucius traced it in a pan across the room, black curtains snapping shut over the portraits at his wordless command (to noises of protest from behind a few of them). He closed the drawer, in a kind of compulsive motion, bringing the magazine to rest on his desk. Checking that the door was closed, Lucius nervously flicked the magazine open. An eyebrow raised. It had improved since he last bought it (which, granted, was a fair few years ago). The models were prettier, and wore a lot less, Lucius soon noted, stopping on a double page spread of a woman in minimal underwear of red lace which did not leave much to the imagination. Grinding, gyrating, biting her lip. She was blonde.

Before he could resist, Lucius' hand found his lap. He winced, as though whole-heartedly hating himself for what was about to occur, but, staring intently at the alluring movements of the scantily-clad model, gradually unzipped his trousers.

He would deal with the consequences afterwards.

* * *

><p>Narcissa was tired, for one thing. She had stormed all over the school, now, and keeping her tantrum up for this long was almost as exhausting as walking the length from the staffroom to her Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom at the best of times. She was moreover, as one could probably by now infer, but should be clarified, very irritated; her hands little fists at her sides, her face set in a remarkably attractive scowl, her exhalations haughty and overly loud.<p>

_Professor Malfoy had better be doing something important,_ she thought bitterly, her irate desire to interrupt him and make his day as bothersome as hers seemingly growing teeth and munching at the jittering insects in her stomach at the thought of him, consuming them before they could take hold.

Her aggravated exuberance was so great, moreover, that when she arrived at her desired classroom door she didn't think to knock. Didn't think to make any sort of sound to make her presence known. She turned the handle, threw the door open, and stamped inside the classroom. "Professor Malfoy, so you have my b-?" she began, this time doing a fairly bad job at keeping her voice at a level below infuriated, but stopped herself. A softer, slightly bewildered expression replaced her murderous frown.

Her immediate suspicion was that Professor Malfoy was dead. He was leaning back in his chair, eyes closed, looking more peaceful than she had ever seen him. Her head tiled, hand poised on the doorknob as though ready to run away, screaming bloody murder. Being a rather adept reader of faces, however, Narcissa soon noticed a few signs of life in the moment or so it took for him to react to her rather unceremonious entrance; his bottom lip was slightly thinner as though he was biting the inside, brow furrowed just a little and the way his forearm was twitching definitely did not indicate the throes of death.

At the first moment Professor Malfoy realised someone had walked into his classroom, Narcissa saw a spasm of rage cross his complexion. This was soon replaced by horror, panic, a deep flush spreading over his usually white face. Narcissa suspected this was the first time her professor had ever really felt ashamed, for she had never seen such a colour stain anyone's cheeks so quickly, and from such a normally controlled man it was quite a sight – nay, achievement – to behold. Narcissa would even come to feel somewhat proud to be the one who was able to make him feel such shame, quite soon, but at the time there were too many things whizzing through her mind to make room for that.  
>"Miss Black," Professor Malfoy gasped, as she turned to quickly leave, and he managed to regain some scrap of composure with what little he held of his dignity, "it's not what it-!"<p>

Narcissa hesitated at the open door, fingers poised on the handle, ready to run and slam it shut. "Sir," she replied coolly, quietly, speaking out to the empty corridor rather than look back at him, "I may have never seen it before, but I am in a school with a number of males. I know what you were doing."

She allowed him to decide what 'it' was; she didn't want to admit opening how very naïve she was. She would allow him to deduce that for himself. Yet, naïve as she was, she could not bring herself to leave. The butterflies had flown southwards and were now deep in her abdomen, somewhere within the place her mother had strictly informed her no man should ever touch unless it was on their wedding bed. And she suspected they would not return to her stomach again. This was past the realms of a schoolgirl crush now. Dangerously so.

For a few achingly long seconds Narcissa deliberated, hand twisting the doorknob as she stared out into the corridor. Her head was telling her to leave, _now_, but something else was pulling her backwards – and she was always taught not to follow her own head, but a man's lead. Her husband's lead. Teacher was fairly close, right? She took a step backwards, back into the room, closing the door in front of her. "Lock it," she whispered softly, thinking it would probably be inaudible to him. In the silence of the classroom, however, every sound was amplified; Narcissa was surprised Professor Malfoy hadn't yet commented on the volume of her pounding heart.

There was a hesitation, the sound of fumbling from behind her. "Miss Black, what are you-?" Professor Malfoy attempted in a surprisingly meek fashion; his voice was quiet, low, but not seductive – humiliated. Clearly too ashamed to even be his conceited, arrogant self.

Narcissa turned suddenly. Her hair whipped past her head as she did, creating a circular motion before coming to rest at her back, cascading down. Her face was set, resolute, though a blush was playing at her cheeks. "I said lock it."

Professor Malfoy surveyed her for a moment, as though judging whether she was serious or not. His face held some of his old confident composure, blush fading but undeniably still present. His wintry, politely confused eyes locked on Narcissa's oceanic, intense stare. He picked up his wand from his desk, having neglected to sheathe it when he trapped the portraits behind their curtains, directing it at the door. "_Colloportus_," he whispered finally. Only when Narcissa heard the definitive click of the door locking did she begin to approach her professor – so very slowly.

"Leaving the door unlocked, sir. Not the best idea. Anyone could have walked in." She made sure to exaggerate the sway of her hips beneath her skirt as she prowled closer, looking around the room nonchalantly, as though she had just walked in on him marking an essay.

Professor Malfoy, she noticed, was staring down at his desk pointedly. His eyes were fixed solely on a point between his hands, which both lay palm-down on the desk, like a chastised child. His hair hung in front of his face, so she could not see his expression, but she was fairly sure the flush would most certainly not have disappeared.

"Or maybe that's all part of the charm," she added as an afterthought. As she got closer, Professor Malfoy did not flinch or make any sort of movement at any point. Only gazed down like his life depended on it. Narcissa's hand found the arm of her teacher's chair, her fingertips brushing along it. She tried to catch a glimpse of his lap at the close proximity, but it was impossible to see due to the shadow cast on him by the desk. She tutted. Following his gaze, Narcissa noticed that her teacher was staring somewhere below the magazine on his desk – she recognised it instantly by the woman, being the page it had fallen open on, on the first day back – and raised an eyebrow at said reading material. _He really was desperate. _She moved up behind his chair, one hand resting on both of the leather arms.

She had no idea what she was doing, and hadn't done for quite a while. She felt like she had left herself standing at the door, and was watching a particularly interesting story from the Restricted Section unravel right in front of her eyes – the child in her had run straight out into the corridor, slamming the door behind her. This woman who had approached her teacher, who was speaking with such a low, sultry purr, had nothing to do with Narcissa Black.

"Perhaps I should go to Professor Dumbledore about this," she continued in little more than a whisper. She leant closer to his hunched figure, closer to where she was sure his ear could be located behind the platinum sheets of his hair, "or perhaps I could take matters…into my own hands, sir."

Professor Malfoy did not move away from her closeness, nor did he protest anymore than, "maybe you should go, Miss Black, and we shall forget all about it."

She could hear the strain in his voice. The desperation, very nearly the same feelings she had been experiencing for him, no doubt. The lust.

With a sudden strength that even she didn't expect from herself, Narcissa gripped both arms of the chair hard and twisted it, spinning the entire seat on its stand so that Professor Malfoy was facing her. She leant forwards like this before he could realise what she had done, gripping the arms again to stop him from moving back. He stared up at her with something that suggested indignation, though the way he bit the inside of his lip still was a better indication of his lingering need.

"Professor," she whispered gently, leaning forwards. One hand raised from the dark leather arms to push his hair from his face, over his shoulder. When he did not protest she slowly, so slowly, leant in, brushing her lips over his cheek. She kissed, and felt him tensing up in an attempt to not immediately succumb. She kissed down his face, teasingly gradually, her hands both leaving the arms of the chair and sliding down his chest through his shirt at a similar pace. Narcissa felt him exhale softly, an elongated sigh after holding his breath for so long. His eyes slid closed, seemingly of their own accord. She knew then that she had won.

Her lips found his, bending over at an almost right angle in order for her to do so. The kiss was not tentative this time; they had tested each other before, they knew what the other felt like. She pressed her lips hard into his, and Professor Malfoy responded with a similar enthusiasm, finally bringing a hand up to brush into her hair and hold her close. She noticed his other hand was gripping the arm of the chair hard, but this would soon be remedied. Ignoring the frantic pounding of her heart, Narcissa bit her professor's lip playfully, kissing him a lot more exuberantly and passionately than either had previously dared to attempt to coax from the other.

Her hands languidly travelled lower, over his stomach, slightly muscular even through his shirt, and down into his lap. It was at this point Professor Malfoy broke the kiss, staring at her with half-lidded eyes, the signs of conflict clearly showing on his face. His brow furrowed. "Miss Black, what do you think you're doing?" he murmured. His voice was that low purr that Narcissa had come to crave so much, his dark eyes smouldering and forcibly reminding her of the ashes left when letters of affection once sent between two lovers are destroyed by a ravenous fire when one has scorned the other.

"You are the professor," she replied teasingly. Her fingers stroked dextrously through the fabric of his trousers, over the zip which had barely been done up due to his fumbling haste to do so. "You tell me." There was no hint of a smile on either of their faces; just looks of intensity, of lust, the same blush tainting both of their cheeks.

Professor Malfoy's brow furrowed again. He bit the inside of his lip again, eyes unhurriedly becoming lidded as Narcissa delicately feathered her fingers over his crotch. She watched his face as he decided, still tracing her finger over the very defined bulge contained within the material – if he had lost his arousal when she walked in on him, he had certainly reclaimed it. He sighed dejectedly, after over half a minute. The hand entwined in Narcissa's hair remained where it was, the other rising to rub his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. "Get on your knees," he murmured in that gentle purr after what seemed like an eternity of consideration.

Narcissa pursed her lips in a shy gesture which went unnoticed by her professor, eyes still closed, but slowly lowered herself to the ground, as she was told. Her hands eased between his thighs, parting his legs, and she moved forwards to accommodate her self between them. Her hands worked to re-undo his trousers; the button, the slow, soft sound of the zip. She bit her lip gently.

Narcissa's hands worked up to Professor Malfoy's hips, pulling gently for him to move his lower half forward a little in his seat. He complied, hesitantly, and did also when she coaxed him to raise his hips slightly. Pulling down his trousers, past his knees, Narcissa smiled slightly at the sight – he had obviously quickly pulled up his underwear when she had made her presence known, as though in an attempt to hide the shameful acts he had committed. Ignoring the racing organ in her chest which was still telling her to scarper, Narcissa traced her forefinger over the defined one in Professor Malfoy's silken underwear which was causing her to stay. She revelled in the soft gasp be unintentionally let out, the way his hand tensed very slightly on the back of her head, followed by another as she cupped her palm around the swell of his member and gently rubbed, testing what would elicit the greatest sounds of pleasure. She leant in, experimentally, tracing the tip of her tongue where her forefinger was only moments ago. She took the sudden tighter grip on her hair as a plea to stop teasing – leisurely, she slipped her fingertips beneath his underwear, and gently pulled the silken boxers down.

If she was nervous before it was nothing compared to her current feelings. As she gradually pulled down his underwear his her eyes roamed over his engorged member, inescapable feelings of tribulation swirling in her stomach. His hand had left his face now, and had returned to resting on the arm of the chair; Professor Malfoy was watching her with an intent interest, judging her reaction, trying to understand her thoughts.

She had heard such of the thing that was now presented in front of her, but never seen one before now. Most things she had heard were wrong; Professor Malfoy's cock, though she blushed harder to think of the word, was hairless - clean shaven - and smooth from circumcision, though along the shaft, which she experimentally trailed the very tip of her forefinger up, were numerous ridges and contours. It, to her, was proud, as vain and conceited as the man whose endowment it was; lengthy, thick and hardened, heavy and darker than the rest of his alluring pale skin due to blood. The head was glistening with a succulent shine, slick with pre-cum.

She bit her lip, looked up at her professor quite apprehensively, before leaning in and trailing the tip of her tongue up the underside of his erection, from base to tip. At the ridge between his shaft and head, Narcissa gently flicked her tongue repeatedly (in a motion that, according to Maurice when she boasted to anyone who would listen about how good she was in bed and Narcissa couldn't help but hear small extracts over the conversation she would be trying to partake in herself, drove men (or boys like Walden, though it seemed to have a similar effect on Professor Malfoy) wild). He groaned, deep in his throat, watching her and rubbing the back of her head a little in encouragement. Her hands gently stroked the toned, taut muscle of his upper thighs, her mouth tenderly enclosing over the very tip of his head, tongue flicking out to sample the clear fluids which secreted at her administrations. The taste was also not like she had heard – she had heard it was salty, bitter, but Professor Malfoy's was, admittedly, somewhat sweet. She fleetingly wondered if this was due to his diet, since she had heard also that this was a factor; she had recently noticed he seemed to have a liking for peppermint and cranberry juice, though there was a certain tang present on her tongue which she guessed was from a partiality of alcohol. She slowly took his head into her mouth, tested its size against her small, delicate jaw. Her eyes flicked up to Professor Malfoy in time to watch his head fall back, groaning quietly, his thighs tensing under her hands.

When she hesitated, wondering if she was doing it right, Professor Malfoy murmured, head still fallen back, "part your teeth more. Close your lips and…" The rest of the sentence was lost, presumably by an inability to overcome the feeling of ecstasy enough to speak.

As told, Narcissa parted her teeth further, pursed her lips and sucked her cheeks in, very slowly moving down to close her lips around the top of her professor's shaft. He gasped and tensed his whole body, head snapping up to look down upon her, before very slightly relaxing; she was sucking, but not in an attempt to make him come. Not yet. It was gentle, her tongue playfully swirling around his head, soothing and reassuring. She didn't know where she was getting the ability – more an innate, feminine knowledge, but of course women have been pretending they are not in control for centuries – from, but it was working. At her tender efforts he was beginning to relax. His hand left her hair, brushed down over her neck, fingers lightly tracing her jaw. His mouth was slightly parted, and from it short, sharp and uneven breaths were ensuing. His eyes met hers as she looked up, the tip of his member still held protectively within her lips; Narcissa saw the silent plea in those gunmetal retinas and was only too happy to oblige.

Not breaking the gaze, her hands wandered over the tops of his thighs, tantalizingly brushing his hips, and following the line of his defined pelvic bone to meet in the middle. Her left hand she tenderly wrapped around the base of his cock; her right she used to brush over his sacs, something that, again, she had unwillingly heard in the Slytherin common room one night and had not really forgotten. It seemed to have great effect on Professor Malfoy, though, for he groaned quietly, but quite brokenly, and leaned back in his chair, eyes closed, finally succumbed to her.

If she could have smiled around his engorged head, she would have. As it was, though, she thought more important things were at hand. She slowly lowered her mouth further onto his length, pulling her cheeks in, sucking. Her hand found a slow, experimental rhythm at the base of his cock, twisting, testing the pressure with which to hold him in her dextrous fingers; her other hand did similarly, testing the way in which she could cup his sacs to elicit the best response, judging by the sounds of his choked, involuntary moans which he tried so hard to contain.

Narcissa had soon tested enough to know that he was not one to like things slow and loving, when it came to this, at least. Her right hand cupped the tautened skin beneath his member not as tenderly as she had begun with, her fingertips applying and removing pressure in continuous circular motions; her left was tight around his base, pumping his shaft hard and fast now, memorizing the bumps and ridges under her sensitive fingers; her mouth was pulled tight, tongue wrapped around his shaft and milking him, twisting her head, moving back and forth in a similar speed to her hand – sometimes pulling all the way up, waiting a moment and kissing his very tip, before plunging back down onto his shaft.

Professor Malfoy's head had fallen back again at some point, and he was no longer attempting to hide the sounds of his pleasure (Narcissa fleetingly hoped at some point that the room was sound-proofed). His hand had returned to the back of her neck and was now holding tightly, fingers brushing and encouraging her to continue, just as they had been to prompt her when she was finding how best to please him.

Remembering something else that she had heard, rumoured around the senior students of the school, she gently began to hum against her professor's length (the Slytherin house song, for lack of better inspiration at what else to hum at the time), while maintaining the rapid but steady administrations on her teacher. Her head twisted, her tongue followed he lines of his ridges and contours, concentrating on sucking around the most tender places of Professor Malfoy's member which she had discovered through trial and error, the miniscule hairline scar as a result of his circumcision which circled his shaft, for example. Her hands continued their controlled, quick movements, becoming more desperate, more heated, Narcissa's eyes flicking up to look at her professor's heaving chest, she shudders which past through his body, hear his broken moans and gasps for breath.

"Narcissa," he growled, his head suddenly snapping forward, eyes open but half-lidded; she felt his thighs tense on either side of her, saw the muscles become strained in an attempt to control himself. She was so surprised that he, for the first time in five years, had called her by her first name that she almost stopped, but managed to regain her composure before she did so. "I'm going to-…" He was stained again with that ashamed blush, brow furrowing in an attempt to keep control of himself, the hand on the arm of the chair gripping tightly at the effort of it, and the hand at her neck doing likewise.

She looked up at him levelly, but pulled her head back, kissed his tip. Her left hand she now pumped all the way from base to tip, circling her thumb over the very end of his member, her movement continuing on his sacs. "Then do so," she responded in that sultry whisper, instinctively leaning back slightly but still staring up at him, biting her lip.

Professor Malfoy did not need telling twice. Again, his eyes closed and his head fell back, whole body tensing as he found release, groaning a loud, broken moan as he did so. Narcissa for a moment was quite put out that he was looking up, therefore she could not see his face, but his noises, his desperate gasps for breath, were enough to clarify that she had done a good job. She continued pumping, but at a slower pace, to ride out his orgasm, gently massaging his sacs with the entirety of her palm, now. Most of the liquid that burst from the tip of his cock was shot onto the floor, for the angle that Narcissa was holding it (this was most definitely like how she had heard it) and stared at the tiny puddles with a polite interest, so not to appear repulsed by it. A little of his ejaculation slowly trickled down the underside of his member, which she leant in and flicked her tongue out to catch before it could reach her hand – Merlin forbid she get any of that on her fingers. It tasted similar to his pre-cum, slightly sweet with a bitter, yet earthy tang, not entirely unpleasant but then again not the most pleasant of things either. Narcissa ran her tongue up her member to catch anymore of the fluid, running the blade of her tongue over his tip to do so, affectionately cleaning him while his cock was still rather hard.

It was quite a while before Professor Malfoy's chest had stopped heaving, and before he brought his head up to look down upon her. He was biting the inside of his lip again, but for once around her his face showed no sign of conflict. Only a peaceful, rather serene expression held him as he stared down at her, and took his retreating member from her hands. She moved back on her knees, slowly stood, as he tucked himself back into his underwear, pulled up his trousers and redid them, as though nothing had happened, though his breathlessness was a reminder to her that, yes, it _had _actually occured. Narcissa leant back on his desk to watch him as he picked up his wand from the mahogany, pointed it at the pearly droplets on the floor and muttered, "_scourgify_," at which they vanished.

There was a minute, at least, of silence. Awkward silence, at that. While Professor Malfoy sheathed his wand and stared hard at the snake head which adorned the end of the cane, Narcissa tried to control her still racing heartbeat and played with the edge of the magazine on Professor Malfoy's desk, pulled it towards her slightly. With a pang of smugness she noticed that the woman was blonde. _So you were right, Andy, he _does_ have a thing for blondes._ _Lacy underwear too, hm?_

"So," she declared after a while, closing the magazine, "do you have my bag, Professor?" He glanced up at her for a moment in bewilderment, fighting another encroaching blush, before he nodded curtly and retrieved it from under his desk, passing it swiftly to her. "Thank you," she continued politely, giving him a wry smile, before turning to leave, "I'll see you tomorrow then, sir."

She was almost at the door before Professor Malfoy found his voice. "Miss Black!" She turned, raising an expectant eyebrow. Her heart was becoming slower now, a more normal rate. He was looking straight at her. "Please don't… tell anyone about this. It would…" He furrowed his brow, his eyes imploring again.

She nodded, taking her wand from her bag. "Don't worry, Professor. I won't." She smiled in what she hoped would be a reassuring way, turning back to the door and whispering, "_allohamora_." The lock clicked, and she left, closing the door softly behind her. She looked back over her shoulder just as the door snapped shut, in time to see Professor Malfoy with wand in hand, the magazine on his desk in flames.

She hesitated outside the classroom door. One moment. Two moments. And then began to sprint back in the direction of the dungeons, desperate to get in bed before her legs, threatening to give way, did so. Narcissa would have to console the child within her, who would no doubt be weeping in her bed, and moreover have to find a pair of underwear which were not soaked through.

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><p><strong>I'd appreciate if anyone reading could review, tell me what was good and what to improve? Or, you know, if you just liked it add this to your alerts or something; it's an almighty ego-boost.<strong>

**Thank you again for reading thus far. c:**


	5. Chapter 5

**Moving on the (pathetic excuse for a) plot here. If you find the thought of that terrible there is also more smut coming up, so everyone's happy, really.**

**This chapter was ridiculously hard for me to write, for some reason, so I'm sorry if there's bits that you don't like or that aren't particularly well-written; if so, just leave me a review or something and I'll revise them. I am also a firm believer than fiction is sweeter than fact, but I have attempted to make this as believable as possible.**

**As always, I hope you enjoy.~**

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><p>"What do you propose we do, Albus?" Minerva asked defensively, eyes wide and nostrils flaring, "We are teachers! We cannot leave our posts to go chasing some supposed 'cult'! We don't even know if this is accurate!" She threw her hands up as thought that would in some way prove her point.<p>

"I think that we all know this threat is very real," Albus replied as though it was the most logical thing in the world, though his eyes behind his half-moon spectacles had lost their usual twinkle, looking a deep contemplative cerulean, "and, as teachers, Minerva, it is our responsibility to inform the students and protect them as well as continue to function successfully as a school. We must quench any beliefs in any parent's mind that their children will ever be in any danger."

Minerva sighed in exasperation, looking around the staffroom for support - scattered about the room was the entire faculty of Hogwarts school, sitting in all manners of ways on all manners of furniture; perched upon rickety stools, reclining in large, plush armchairs, sitting close together on chintz sofas. Albus sat in the middle of the staffroom, with the rest of the professors crowded around him; every teacher listened intently to Albus' every syllable, Pomona absently stirring a cup of tea which had gone cold in her hands sometime ago, Horace having had a large chunk of crystallised pineapple at his lips for some time but had not been able to pull his attention away for long enough to take a bite. Lucius, one of the teachers sat in a lone armchair (the only leather one in the room), was listening but for a different reason to the rest of them – they all held an unwavering respect for Albus, while he did not. He was listening intently in order to try and gain some information, _any information_, to send back to his correspondent.

It had been almost a month since that very rainy September morning on which he had received the letter, hazy in Lucius' mind due to his hang over, but clear enough to make him cringe. September had faithfully and inevitably turned into November, and a very wild one at that. It was not an uncommon sight to see the giant squid dancing over the frozen lake, tentacles splaying out underneath itself, the oaf of a gamekeeper (who was hunched on a chair in the corner of the staffroom) trying to break the sheet of ice and get it back beneath the surface. And, over the past month, more and more had been printed in the Daily Prophet relating to a 'dark cult', or 'Dark Rebellion' as it was becoming increasingly known as, with more and more in-depth information. The snake would have to be found, and fast.

"But Albus!" squawked Minerva indignantly, "We do not know who is behind it, if anyone! It may very well be just a hoax!" She pushed her spectacles back up her nose, as they had slipped down at the force of her exclamations. "And this Order of which you speak! Surely this is taking it a little too far for-!"

"I think we all know who is behind it, Minerva," Albus cut in somewhat sternly, causing her to instantly shut her mouth, "there is not much question of who and why. More…how?"

"Who, Albus?" cheeped up Filius, who was literally on the edge of his seat to listen.

Albus let out a great sigh. For a moment he looked exceptionally old and worn. "Though it cannot yet be proven, I suspect none other than our own Tom Marvolo Riddle." He cast his wizened gaze around the staffroom to a number of reactions: mutters of "oh yes, him, he was quite a strange one."; exclamations of "Tom? No! He wouldn't!"; anxious looks about the room as though seeking reassurance; or, in Horace's case, finally putting down the sugared fruit and looking positively sick (Lucius thought it looked rather like guilt, but he couldn't be sure). "I'm afraid he was a little before your time, Lucius. He applied for the Defence Against the Dark Arts post before you, in 1965. Needless to say, I turned him down." Albus smiled softly. "The teacher who obtained his job only lasted one year. I had thought that dear Mr. Riddle had cursed the position, until you thankfully came along." His eyes twinkled slightly as he looked at Lucius, who stared solidly back, feeling no friendliness, agreement or guilt whatsoever – not showing any sign of recognition to the name Tom Riddle. His face was stony, resolute ad he merely stared back at Albus until the headmaster continued.

"As for the Order of the Phoenix," Albus pressed on, interlocking his long, lined fingers upon his lap, looking knarled and fragile as aging, wind-battered tree roots in Lucius' opinion, "a number of witches and wizards outside the school are joining me in partaking in it. We plan," he continued pointedly as Minerva opened her mouth to protest, "to stop the 'cult' at the source now while it is exactly that and nothing more – an unnamed 'dark cult' – and prevent it from spreading, if you will. Prevent Lord Voldemort from getting followers."

There were a few titters from the teachers at the sound of the alias. Lucius did not join in, his face still set and stoic; he was trying not to look too interested at the news. He hoped someone else would ask for details of the 'Order', so he did not have to – to remain emotionless and silent throughout the entire meeting (through six years worth of meetings, really) and show interest only at that point would definitely give the game away. He made sure his scowl stayed internal, therefore, when the conversation took a different turn to what he wanted.

"Why did you not tell us of this Order before, Albus?" Minerva asked, her voice portraying a little hurt, as though she felt betrayed. There were a few nods from around the room, with Silvanus nodding his mortally scarred head the most violently and throwing his right arm up on the air (the left would also have been cast skywards had it not been bitten off by some form of blood-thirsty creature some years previous (he had never told anyone what said creature was)).

"I have been waiting to see it my suspicions were correct, if this story was not a hoax. I made sure to ask witches and wizards who I knew would definitely be interested in joining to help, in case things should begin to escalate. As things are doing so, I thought it wise to tell you all about the Order and my hunches now, and not do so sooner, additionally, because I thought you all had enough on your plates getting these students through their exams, rather than run around trying to fight a group of dark witches and wizards which could be purely based on scandals and untruths."

"Your hunches are usually right, Albus," Septima said thoughtfully after a moment, probably the only way she _could_ say things with such a logical mind dedicated to Arithmancy, followed by an "'Ere, 'ere!" from the filthy oversized half-blood in the corner of the room.

Albus' eyes twinkled just a little. "Well, it seems to be proving to look that way at the moment. Though I hope it is not, and that these are the ramblings of an old fool and all of my reservations are incorrect."

For a moment all was silent. Then, "who are some already existing members of the Order of the Phoenix?" asked Horace, still looking exceptionally pale.

_Finally._

"A few close associates of mine," Albus replied simply. Lucius was, understandably, disheartened, but did not allow himself to show it. "I would rather not divulge that information here. There could be ears anywhere within these walls, ready to strike upon me and the Order."

"As if anyone coul'," Rubeus chortled, looking around for agreement. He was widely ignored.

"Do not think that I distrust any of you. I am telling you all of the existence of the Order only because I trust you all with my life." His eyes, again, surveyed the room. They stopped for a moment on Lucius, scrutinized him intently. "I want you all to know what my uncertainties are, what I am doing to fight these threats and keep our students safe. I do not expect any of you to take an active role in the Order – you all have enough to deal with – but I shall be putting new defensive measures on the school." His eyes, again, bored into Lucius'. The grey met the blue and stared back with no hint of wavering.

"Now!" exclaimed Albus, clapping his hands with a wide smile, "onto a lighter topic, I think! The first quidditch game of the term will – Pomona, are those those delicious biscuits you bake? Why yes, I think I shall, thank you – be commencing the week after next despite the weather. Gryffindor vs Slytherin." He inclined his head to Minerva and Lucius respectively, and, through a mouthful of shortbread, continued, "good luck to you both."

The two professors continued staring at Albus, not acknowledging each other's existence.

"Also, we must arrange new after hour's corridor patrols, since, unfortunately, Horace's leg was gravely wounded by a second year's spilt swelling solution which they had brewed wrong and thus fairly dreadful side-effects occurred. Madam Hartford has strictly insisted he rest in bed."

Horace sank into his chair, looking rather sheepish and raising his trouser leg to show a number of bandages covering from ankle to knee. "That apprentice, Poppy Pomfrey, did this, you know," Horace added, as though in would in some way help, "and a mighty fine job she did, too."

The teachers remained silent for a moment, evidently not wanting to leave their respective posts they already patrolled. Then, "Albus, I will take the dungeons," Lucius murmured coolly, as though he was not thinking of any ulterior motive whatsoever, "since my room is down there as well as my common room. Should I catch anyone down there they would be most appropriately dealt with by me."

There was a moment of consideration. "Very well," Albus nodded, "then Bathsheda, Septima, if you could patrol the second floor between you I would be most appreciative." It was a command masked as a friendly question. _How weak. A real leader _tells_ his followers what to do, he does not _implore. Lucius' head, already turned away from the headmaster as though in distaste, did so a little more. "Now, if there is nothing else to say, since we have exhausted all to be said, I think we should retire to our rooms before Argus catches up out of hours and hangs up from the dungeon ceiling by our thumbs. Spit-spot!"

The professors did as were told and rose as one, mumbling among themselves or tiredly rubbing their eyes. As they began to filter out of the staffroom Albus exclaimed, however, "Lucius, a word, if you please."

Lucius, who had stood and was shouldering his silken cloak, nodded once and lingered behind, pulling away as Rubeus, the last person to leave, lumbered past him as though he were infected with a particularly bad case of sneezles. Lucius noticed that the rather rickety chair on which Rubeus had sat was now just a few splinters. Lucius pulled his wand out of his cane, flicked it soundlessly and the chair fixed itself, a few splinters flying from the creases in Rubeus' trousers to right themselves in the woodwork. The door shut softly behind him and Albus, who was also standing, fixed Lucius a serious gaze. He was a good four or five inches shorter than Lucius, and had to look upwards in order to meet the stoicism in those gunmetal eyes.

After a moment of silence, simply staring, Lucius cleared his throat. "You wanted to see me, Albus?"

"Yes. Yes, I do," the headmaster responded thoughtfully. He trailed a hand down his beard, snowy white but still with tiny flecks of a youthful brown, like a thick frost over soil. It stretched all the way down to his chest. "I would like to request your help."

Any tension that Lucius was experiencing, suspicions that Albus would interrogate him about Miss Black or about his loyalty to this 'Order of the Phoenix' nonsense, soon faded away. "How so?"

"I would like to employ your skills of Defence Against the Dark Arts in order to assist me in protecting the school."

Lucius scrutinized the other man for a moment, sheathing his wand back into his cane. "Albus, you are a great wizard. Surely you do not need my help."  
>A humble smile crossed and set upon Albus' lips. "Some may describe me as such. But I am neither foolish nor supercilious enough to think that I, single-handedly, can put such defensive measures on the entire school."<br>There was a thoughtful pause. "What sort of defensive measures?"

"I want to make it impossible for anyone to apparate out of the school. More disillusionment charms and deflective measures. Should dark forces try to breach this school, I want them sent away before they can even set sight upon the walls."

Lucius continued staring at Albus solidly, unwaveringly. "Of course," was his simple reply, inclining his head minutely as Albus bowed his in appreciation. _Just as well he came to me. I can make sure there are loopholes for myself in these defensive measures. _Again, Lucius made sure this was purely a verbalisation of his inner monologue, and made sure his face betrayed nothing either, as he allowed himself to follow the line of Albus' outstretched hand, which was pointing cordially towards the door in indication for Lucius to leave first, and left the room before the headmaster.

Outside, Lucius was not surprised to find a cat sitting on the window sill directly opposite the staffroom door, its fur bathed in moonlight, ignoring the conversation of the two gargoyles whom appeared to be bickering. It fixed him a wide-eyed, emerald gaze, before turning to stare at Albus, ignoring Lucius completely.

"Ah, Minerva. I thought you may still have questions," Albus quavered fondly, "come, we shall speak more in my office." The cat immediately leapt down from the windowsill, cast Lucius a sullen glare as it meandered past him, and padded quickly after Albus, tail high in the air. Lucius' lip curled upwards as he watched, before he turned on heel and swept back down the corridor towards the dungeons, his footsteps (and the soft click of his cane) reverberating around the corridors.

"Dobby," Lucius commanded as he entered his bedroom, slamming the door behind him, and snapping his fingers. He took a fairly empty bottle of red wine from the designated shelf of the liquor cabinet and poured a thin wine glass half full, ignoring the snap from behind him and the squeak of "yes, master?" as he did so. Only when he had removed his cloak from his shoulders, draped it over the end of his bed, removed his shoes, placed his cane down to lean against the arm of his leather armchair and sat down in it did he speak again. He was staring into the fire when as he spoke, not bothering to give the house-elf another glance; another cast-off from his father, the fact that Dobby was a disgusting creature of a lower status than himself was not the only reason that Lucius despised the house-elf. It had come with the estate that Abraxas Malfoy had given to his son, the only thing that said son had ever accepted from his father, and Lucius was told that the filthy creature was to be kept – admittedly, it had its uses, for example errands that Lucius did not have the time or means to do, and the house work, but it was still a measly, pathetic excuse of a life.

"You will follow and eavesdrop on Albus Dumbledore," he muttered idly, placing his glass of wine on the round table beside the chair and slowly undoing the clasps on his waistcoat, "making sure he does not see you. Under any circumstances. Do it day and night until you can bring me relevant and in-depth information on the Order of the Phoenix. Beginning from now. He will be in his office. Go."

Lucius completely ignored the wide eyes that Dobby cast up at him, fingering the pillowcase that it was wearing, and carried on staring into the fire pointedly until he had heard the snap which informed Lucius that Dobby had disappeared.

He sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly. He could not write to his correspondent with the minimal information he had just collected, not now it had been nearly a month since he received the last letter. It would not go down well. He would have to put his faith – regrettably – in his filthy servant. Sneering at the thought, Lucius reached for his wine and brought it to his mouth. _This _was how he should have spent his entire Wednesday night anyway, not worrying about some staff meeting or collecting important information to send out of the castle walls. Under habit, he sniffed the liquid briefly, swilled it around a little, before taking a sip of it. Rich, smooth, beautiful, as always.

As was customary, recently, Lucius' mind soon turned to thoughts of Miss Black – another force of habit, really, when he retired to his quarters with little to occupy himself other than the fire and a glass of wine.

Over the past month, not much had happened between him and Miss Black. Not since the time she walked in on him – he still winced at the mere thought of it. However, more heated kisses had been exchanged, in progressively more dangerous situations: after lessons, before the next class would have chance to walk in; down empty corridors should they both be walking through at the same time, Lucius pushing Miss Black into the nearest wall in order to do so; outside the doors of the Great Hall during breakfast, passionate but brief for danger of the students milling around. And she, again, seemed to be doing more and more in order to obtain more detentions – playing exploding snap with Miss Parkington during one of Lucius' lectures on wordless spells, writing one sentence at most for class work, not doing homework at all. Wearing progressively more barely-there clothes, too. Her skirt, during the lesson that day, for example, was so tantalizingly short that Lucius was surprised how well he managed to control even himself (although, admittedly, sly glances were cast under her desk every time she crossed her legs).

He didn't know how much more he could take without issuing her another detention, or indeed how far she would go to get one. He knew the game there were playing was far too dangerous, but it was also far too fun to stop. He was too far involved to stop.

Lucius brought his wine to his lips, tipped the glass upwards, and drank the entirety of the ruby liquid in a few gulps. He then set the empty glass back down on the table, knowing the school house-elves would clean it up, and rose, slowly removing his waistcoat. He did the same with his shirt, the moonlight streaming through the window of his room creating dappled shapes on the milky skin of his chest, and stripped the rest of his clothes away, folding them up and leaving them in a neat pile on the floor, beside his bed.

He slid into his overly large four poster bed, under the jade sheets, and drew the curtains around himself to block out the moonlight, leaving him alone in the darkness. His arms curved, his hands at the back of his head, lying on them as his slender fingers curved to fit the shape of his skull. His final thoughts before he drifted into sleep were based in the female's dormitories of his house, a certain fifth-year's bed in particular, wondering if her thoughts were based in his own.

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><p>As it has been previously stated, Narcissa liked being the only one. And this, this…whatever it could be known as with Professor Malfoy, definitely set her as different to everyone else. It was only her who knew the powerful masculine scent that loitered around his crotch, the only part of him which was not drowned out by a just as powerful cologne. It was her who knew the feeling of the delicate pulse from that tiny vein on the underside of her professor's penis on her tongue. It was only her who knew the sounds that her professor made in the throes of passion, only her who knew the taste of his lips, his breath, his ejaculation. It excited her to know of such things, and she wanted to know more.<p>

Difficult, however, for when the past month he had yet again been playing hard to get. Yes, that night after the 'occurrence' she had been shocked, even scared, but she was soon left craving it again. Craving more. Passionate, frenzied kisses in corridors were just not enough, not anymore, not for her. She knew what she wanted and, as always, intended to go out of her way to get it.

It was a Friday morning and, as always, Defence Against the Dark Arts with the Hufflepuffs was the first lesson of the day. Narcissa was sitting in her usual seat, blatantly ignoring Maurice's mindless rants about Walden or something or another, and was using a simple charm which no one else could seem to grasp involving turning pieces of her parchment into swans – quite a striking likeness, too, for they spread and preened their great parchment wings with delicate, shapely beaks. She set them all in a row, wand poised, staring at the door.

"And where did you say you went when you disappeared on Saturday?" Maurice continued, addressing Narcissa directly now, "There aren't many places in Hogsmeade you can get _lost_ in, Cissa. You clearly wandered off from Walden and I for _something._"

Narcissa carried on pointedly staring at the door, ignoring Maurice, though she could feel the shadow of a blush threatening to spill out onto her cheeks. Ever since the last weekend where Narcissa had disappeared in Zonko's joke shop, returning to Maurice and Walden some twenty minutes later and hiding her slightly fuller handbag behind her back, Maurice had been obsessed to know where Narcissa had gone; "do you have a secret boyfriend?", "were you stealing something?" etc etc. She, rather unthinkingly, immediately told Maurice that she got lost, which caused the almost week long onslaught that Narcissa was still refusing to answer truthfully. If she did it would just arise to so many more questions that the truth would never be worth it.

This continued for some time, until Maurice finally got well and truly fed up of being ignored and turned her retroussé nose to stare down at some nearby Hufflepuff instead. Narcissa, however, remained tensed, wand pointed at the parchment swans lined up like elegant soldiers at the edge of her desk. Her eyes were staring unblinkingly at the classroom door, waiting. Just waiting. If Professor Malfoy was not paying her enough attention, which he was not, she would force him to do so.

After what seemed like a century, the handle of the classroom door finally twisted, the door opened, Professor Malfoy took a step in; everything happened in fairly quick succession. Narcissa muttered a charm to set the swan's beaks on fire, though the parchment on which the flames fed did not blacken or curl or was affected in any way. Another charm and a careless flick of her wrist and the swans were beating their great parchment wings, soaring from the desk and following the line of Narcissa's wand. They pulled their wings in, now resembling small missiles, as they rocketed towards the Hufflepuff girl who sat in front of Narcissa – when they hit, hard, into the back of her neck, causing her many layers of frizzy ginger hair to catch fire, Narcissa decided that it was for the best (the girl could have done with a haircut, and the flames were lost in that mess of tangles anyway).

The boy beside the newly aflame Hufflepuff leapt up with a cry, flailing around and tripping over the chair leg of his other neighbour, his wand swishing madly skywards. The chandelier rocked frantically, causing a number of acid-green candle to dislodge and fall onto the student's desks beneath, who, again, cried and leapt up; one girl screamed and backed away so wildly that she fell straight into Professor Malfoy's bufflemorphkin skeleton display, and she was soon lost beneath a cascade of dust and bones. The room was in uproar, girls clinging to one another for comfort, boys screaming more than the girls, people in the portraits around the room shrieking and running into each other's frames for fear that they may be singed by the flames, and a certain Narcissa Black sitting quite calmly, looking very smug indeed.

In little more than a few instants, Professor Malfoy had unsheathed his wand and sliced it through the air once. Instantaneously, every hint of a flame had been quenched – the candles were back in the now still chandelier, burning innocently, the bufflemorphkin skeleton had reformed (with just a few bones missing as they were still trapped under the Slytherin girl, wriggling to get free and rejoin the display) and the Hufflepuff girl was sobbing over a few locks of her hair which had only received minor singes (_Pity_, thought Narcissa dully, _I shall have to try harder next time_).

"Sit," Professor Malfoy commanded to the class, his voice low and silky. The students did immediately as were told, some scrambling off the floor and letting go of their friends with some reluctance. Some inspected their desks, finding no hint of a burn whatsoever, and wondered if all of that had actually happened – the only indications that it had were the twittering portraits, fanning themselves as though they had nearly met their deaths (again), and the scent of burning hair from the front of the classroom.

"Miss Travers, would you like to go to Madam Hartford and see what she can do for your hair?" Professor Malfoy muttered after surveying the class once, checking that everything was in order once again. His eyes lingered on Narcissa as he spoke to the Hufflepuff girl, who rose, tearful, and ran from the room.

Narcissa stared at him solidly, lips curving into a wry smile. She crossed her legs under her desk, placed the tip of her quill to her bottom lip as though sucking thoughtfully. If Professor Malfoy experienced anything at all from her actions he didn't show it – but, reasoned Narcissa, he was a very good actor. His nostrils flared, and, despite his low, smooth voice, she recognised the tone of anger in his vociferation. "Miss Black. Detention. Tonight. Ten o' clock. My office."

Her eyebrow raised slightly, but she nodded once, losing her smile. Perhaps he really didn't want her anymore…

"What did you do that for?" Maurice hissed venomously, as Professor Malfoy began the lesson on the continuation of wordless incantations. Being one of the girls who had screamed loudest, in quite an undignified manner, she sounded like she wanted to curse Narcissa past the depths of the Hell's seventh circle for making her appear so indecorous. She was not the only one, for a number of students and portrait subjects, mostly Hufflepuff girls, were casting Narcissa murderous glares.

Narcissa shrugged negligently. "Felt like it," she muttered offhandedly, leaning her head on her hand and staring out of the window, returning to ignoring Maurice and the rest of the class.

She didn't notice, throughout the lesson, Professor Malfoy's lingering gazes on her stony face, nor the miniscule smirks he just could not contain.

* * *

><p>From somewhere far above the dungeons, a clock boomed ten times. The castle was still, silent, as classes had finished many hours prior and teachers were now beginning to patrol the corridors, disgruntled at not being able to retire to their beds yet or, in Argus and Mrs. Norris' case, excited to pounce upon and punish any unfortunate student; Lucius counted the thunderous reverberations, one at a time. He had been waiting for the past fifteen minutes around the corner from the portrait guarding the Slytherin common room, hidden in the deep shadows of the piceous dungeon walls. Like a predator he was watching, waiting patiently.<p>

Miss Black was definitely trying very hard to get his attention now. After the fiasco that morning, Lucius had begun to wonder exactly how far she would go. He could not allow her to be hung up on him anymore. He had to let her go – detentions were most certainly not working. He had to get her attentions away from him, once and for all. And if the best way for that was, quite literally, to scare her off, so be it.

He had to stop the game now, else he would lose at the more important one.

As the portrait of the snake swung open, Lucius poised, tensed, watching Miss Black look about her. Her hair was, again, in soft curls falling about her face, her shirt not completely buttoned and her skirt rather short. She completely missed him, lost in shadow, and set off down the corridor in the direction of Lucius' office, looking rather haughty.

_Now. _

Lucius stepped briskly but quietly after her, careful to tread lightly. In his hand he held his wand, adorned still with the silver snake head, but had left his cane in his room. It was too cumbersome for this, left on the end of his bed with his cloak and waistcoat. Despite the fact he had used a Disillusionment Charm on himself sometime prior, he kept mostly to shadows, moving a good way behind Miss Black and matching her footsteps to reduce the risk of her guessing someone was tailing her. She would have to be close to his office, away from Horace's room, away from the common room, for what he wanted. He had been planning this since Wednesday night, when he had volunteered to take over the post of patrolling the dungeons, in anticipation of Miss Black becoming more rebellious. He did not expect her to become such so quickly, however; he was lucky that the chance to quench it now had been given to him. And he would not allow his planning to go to waste.

Closer to his office, Lucius pressed his back against the dungeon wall, watching as Miss Black meandered further away from him, in the direction towards his office door. He steeled himself, watching her with an unwavering gaze, and raised his wand. In one wordless swish, the torches in the brackets which lined the walls flickered and went out, plunging the entire corridor into darkness. Lucius heard Miss Black scream, heard her breathing become rapid and heavier. "Who's there?" Miss Black demanded to the blackness, though there was a note of panic in her voice. In his mind's eye he saw her stepping back towards the opposite wall, eyes wide, searching with desperation about the darkness for the one responsible. He heard the scuff of her shoes as she backed away from his current position, still towards his office, following the wall. Her location was not hard to infer; the sound of her laboured breathing was enough to guide Lucius to follow her through the tortuous labyrinth of the dungeons.

When her breathing became more controlled, turning a corner and finding the familiar green light glowing down the corridor, Lucius could not contain a smirk – he flicked his wand again, extinguishing the flames, and swished it soundlessly at the floor at her feet. There was a loud bang, like a small explosion, and Miss Black's scream filled the dungeons. She was breathing frantically now, running blindly down the corridors. Lucius followed, judging her position by the sound of her harsh exhalations, the scent of vanilla, the pounding of her heart (which he will soon come to realise is actually his, thudding in his ears). She had stopped exclamations of "go away!" and "Stop!" by this time, and was whimpering softly through her harsh breaths. Lucius still flicked his wand carelessly every now and again, creating shuffling sounds which circled around the girl, or small explosions which went off at her stumbling feet.

It may have been cruel, yes, but she would hate him then. It was for the best. Everything he did was just for the best.

* * *

><p>It was safe to say that Narcissa was scared. It would be quite the understatement to say it, too. If the dungeon corridors had not been plunged into infuscation, she would not have been able to see anything anyway through the pooling tears which had soon spilled over her eyelids and were coursing down her face, sobs wracking her body as she staggered – was herded - deeper and deeper into the dungeons, judging by the temperature drop. Though that may have been her blood running cold, she reasoned with herself as she ran blindly, trying to escape the sounds which encapsulated her.<p>

"Please, please stop!" she whimpered after the lights in the dungeon corridor down which she stumbled were extinguished for a fourth time. She moved back against the nearest wall, trembling, quite happy to allow herself to collapse, black out, never wake up – anything to escape this…whatever was following her.

She screamed at the sudden feeling of something pressing against her – pushing into her, warm, smothering her, choking her – felt warmth against her lips, arms at either side of her, trapping her against the wall. The feeling was so familiar, so comforting, that she no longer cared if she was going to die. Her arms found their way up the arms at her sides, over shoulders, wrapping securely around what she was sure was a neck. She felt sheets of long, glossy hair against the goose-bumps of her bare arms and prayed to whatever heathen deity happened to be close at the time that this was real, sobbing softly into the lips which pressed against hers, kissing back passionately, desperately seeking reassurance from the hot breath which met hers.

She felt the arm on her left side shift; the torches around them bloomed back into the emerald flames, and before her, so close in front of her, pressing into her, was Professor Malfoy. Her eyes were squeezed shut as she kissed him, therefore she didn't notice as he relieved himself of the Disillusionment Charm but, when she needed breath, she pulled back and stared him in the eye with her own watery ones.

"Professor," Narcissa breathed needily, pulling his head towards her again after inhaling deeply, breathing in his cologne, that recognisable smell. She kissed him again, frantic, her teeth gently biting his bottom lip in an attempt to coax a deeper embrace from her professor. He complied, pressing her against the wall, pushing his body into hers. His hands left the wall at either side of her, his left arm snaking around her upper torso, his right encircling her waist. The soft clatter as Professor Malfoy's wand fell to the floor was unnoticed by he and Narcissa.

The feeling of not knowing what she was doing returned to Narcissa as she clung fearfully to the back of her professor's shirt collar, one hand sliding up into his hair to press the kiss deeper, their heads twisting together, eyes shut, drowning in the intimate, unconstrained scents of one another. At some point she had wrapped her legs around Professor Malfoy's waist, clinging to and trusting him completely now, supported in the air only by him pressing her against the dungeon wall and his surprisingly strong arms ensnaring her.

With a gasp, Narcissa suddenly pulled away from the kiss, tightening her grip on Professor Malfoy's sleek coiffure. She felt the gentle experience of probing, deep within her skull, and recognised it at once; from a young age, her father had taught her Occlumency to combat any intrusions into her mind, and he had built up quite a wall against it (she had plenty of practise with Bellatrix, who would not think twice in an attempt to read Narcissa's thoughts and secrets). To experience it when Professor Malfoy had not even murmured an incantation, however, surprised her. _An experienced Legilimens_. Then why was he pushing so gently against the walls of her mind?

Professor Malfoy leant in, his lips finding her neck, just below her jaw, kissing, biting gently, sucking. She leant her head back and closed her eyes despite herself, pulling on her professor's hair, trying to defend herself against his mind threatening her own. She felt herself waver, succumbing to his warm breath on her throat, before she would put her defences up again, whimpering in protest.

"Trust me," Professor Malfoy whispered huskily, when she continued this. Not opening her eyes, her fingers curled tightly into his locks, pulling, a non-verbal threat of what she would do if he harmed her in some way, but very reluctantly let down the walls of her mind, allowing him access.

The rush of emotions she felt was immediate – she was glad that her legs were wrapped securely around her professor's waist, else she was sure her knees would have buckled and she would have collapsed there and then. Apologies for scaring her, for the tears which still made her face glisten in the dim dungeon light; the knowledge that he should be no where near her, that his job was in jeopardy and that she was too young; but the fusillade of desire far over-powered all other feelings he pushed into her mind. The lust that he felt, the yearning for her body against his. He shared with her all the mental images he had experienced of her over the past month or so, including the particularly vivid ones he was having more and more after a little too much to drink; her straddling his waist, moaning for him, moving onto him, into him, flushed, desperate.

All this he did while tasting the porcelain skin of Narcissa's neck, kissing down the sliver of skin of her chest which was exposed between her shirt. She could feel herself heat up, feel the blush taint her face at his admittance to her, could feel the deep ache which accompanied the butterflies in that forbidden place. The same wet residue which had been present in her underwear a month ago, when she had taken Professor Malfoy into her mouth, was present again. She felt it spill uncontrollably from her into her underwear, impossible to hold on to between her parted legs.

Over their newly formed connection Narcissa tried to protest to his actions, _no, you can't, someone will find us. _Professor Malfoy, however, pushed forwards the clear images of what had happened in the staffroom two days prior, the meeting in which be became the patroller of the dungeons at night. _We will not be disturbed,_ she heard back in her mind, in his gentle, low purr.

"Professor," she whimpered again, interrupting the infringement of her mind; she pushed back her own images, own feelings of want and longing, her own desperation for him. She felt them course straight to her professor's crotch, feeling the hardened bulge press into her thigh, the hot, harsh breaths at her neck increasing in speed and intensity. "Please."

Narcissa's legs unwrapped from Professor Malfoy's waist at his prompting, shakily returning to the floor. She had no chance of falling over, however, for he pressed her hard against the dungeon wall, his hand trailing down over her waist; she let out a soft gasp as it worked its way between her legs, the cold, dextrous fingertips pressing against her underwear, rubbing minute circles against her clitoris, and into the warmth between her thighs. Her first instinct was to scream, slap him, run and close her legs for the rest of her life – her mother's teachings – but she found herself not wanting to. She was scared, yes. She was terrified. But she could not remember the last time she had wanted something she was not allowed so badly.

She felt Professor Malfoy feel the material of the underwear, his fingers teasing the lace, and pushed into his mind the image of her the previous Saturday escaping Maurice to visit Madam Sweet's lingerie store in one of the few sultry back alleys of Hogsmeade, accompanied by the words '_for_ _you'_ which only he would ever hear, reverberating around his head in her voice. He expressed his approval by returning his lips to her own, stroking a long line between her legs. She felt him smirk against her mouth.

One of Narcissa's hands left his neck as she trailed it over his shoulder, down his chest over his shirt, down to his crotch. Her fingertips danced over the defined bulge, as they had before. He let out a soft growl into her lips, pushing forward into her mind the words, '_do you want this?_'

She responded immediately with a '_yes_', as though she had never been more sure of anything in her life, pulling away to stare resolutely into his eyes, biting her lip gently. Professor Malfoy needed not much more prompting. Kissing her cheek, moving towards her ear, he reached both hands down, pushing her underwear leisurely down her thighs, allowing her to step out of them as she just as gradually undid the clasp and zip on his trousers. She let them go and they pooled around his ankles, her hands playing at the defined erection captive within his boxers (made of quite a coarse material today, unlike the silken ones she had last felt). Narcissa's hand held more tightly onto Professor Malfoy's shoulder as he kissed beneath her ear, tilting her head away to allow him to do so; she dug her nails into his shirt as his fingers once again brushed between her legs, and she mimicked his long stroking movements against his member. She nodded hesitantly when Professor Malfoy's index fingertip pushed against her tight entrance, stroking his length with the flat of her palm through his underwear. Her eyes shut tightly at the breach of her inner walls; she expected more pain. As it was all she felt was a slightly uncomfortable sensation, but nothing she couldn't handle. Perhaps it was the stream of thoughts that Professor Malfoy was still pushing over the bond of their consciousnesses, the images and needful things which were making her crave him deep within her too much to feel any pain. It was that innate feminine yearn again, an ache deep within for him – all of him.

"Professor," she whispered huskily, in a somewhat choked moan, as he slid another finger inside her. She felt herself involuntarily clench around his long, slender digits, clearly experienced for they easily nudged against a spot deep inside her that she didn't even know existed. She gripped his shoulder hard, pushing into his fingers involuntarily to find _that _again, just so she could make sure it was not just a figment of her imagination. She moaned again, a low sound which was lost as Professor Malfoy's lips covered hers once more. Kissing back with need, Narcissa pushed down Professor Malfoy's underwear, taking his hardened member in her hand (her little finger pointing outwards from force of habit) and stroking slowly, steadily, along his shaft. Her fingers felt the ridges and contours, familiar from the last time she had memorized their feel beneath her fingers, and they gave a soft, simultaneous moan which was lost in their passionate kiss.

It was not long before Narcissa took her hand from his hardened cock and threaded her arm back around his strong, sinewy shoulders; Professor Malfoy's hands left her waist and her heated cunt and stroked down the back of the young girl's thighs, lifting her for her legs to wrap once again around his waist. Narcissa complied, not breaking the kiss, her right hand trailing up to tangle into his hair. He pushed her against the dungeon wall to support her, hands still at her thighs in order to do so. The question, _are you sure?_

Narcissa rocked her hips, grinding them against Professor Malfoy's in an answer. He took it as an affirmative, letting go of one thigh momentarily – she was so tensed, clinging to his waist, that he could have let go altogether – to guide his member into her.

When Narcissa felt the tip of her professor's cock press against her, she broke the kiss, her eyes squeezing shut, to let out a soft whimper. She, of course, knew already that he was big, but to feel him pushing into her tightness was something different altogether. She was not going to lie. Even with the moisture which soaked her slick inner walls, it hurt. It hurt a lot. Professor Malfoy must have deduced this for himself, for he kissed the hollow at the base of her throat, tenderly, and gently began to push upwards into her.

Admittedly, this was not how Narcissa Black thought she would lose her virginity. She guessed, and had resigned her self to the idea, that an unattractive, prematurely balding rich man who couldn't really get it up and had claimed her hand in his own unworthy, porky fingers in marriage would be lying above her, huffing and puffing away with something that resembled a penis, only smaller. Never in her wildest dreams did she think that she would be the overly spoilt student of a rather sexy teacher, and would be pressed against a wall, still clothed for the most part, in a rather undignified manner, limbs wrapped securely around her professor's toned body to be taken for her first time. It didn't take her long to decide which scenario she would prefer, and she happened to be in said scenario at that moment.

Despite the continued thoughts of reassurance, of images which caused her hot secretions to slick her teacher's penis, Narcissa's fingers pulled tight on Professor Malfoy's hair as he pushed his tip in her, feeling herself stretch to accommodate him. He eased into her slowly, patiently, pushing away his own desperate need to slam all the way into her in order to do so. His breath matched hers, her short, sharp gasps for breath; their heartbeats thundered in both of their ears, pounding as one over the connection which they shared through the extended Legilimency.

Sliding his shaft into her, Narcissa felt his hips begin to pulsate, creating a slow, gentle rhythm into her, his pelvic bone rubbing expertly, with practised ease, against her clitoris. There was a very slight burn around her very opening at the stretching of the constricted skin, but at few gentle motions she found herself begin to relax, to loosen slightly; her lips found his again, eyes not opening, kissing him desperately and moaning rhythmically into his mouth at the movements.

Encouraged, Professor Malfoy pressed a little further, deeper, into her, doing so progressively more at every upwards movement of his hips. He groaned softly against the girl's mouth with each, as Narcissa clenched involuntarily around him, becoming accustomed to the feel of his engorged cock inside her.

Narcissa soon became familiar with the slow, shallow rhythm of her professor and began to move with him, using her back against the wall as leverage to push onto and ease herself off his member. Every time she pushed a little harder, taking him marginally further, desperate to feel the tip of him brush that place he had shown her only minutes ago. The cold of the dungeons were long forgotten, her skin heated and flushed from the energy needed to keep moving into her professor, from the feelings of pleasure which were beginning to arise from somewhere deep within her being, spreading to her extremities and setting her very skin alight. From the way in which Professor Malfoy was kissing her he felt the same way; deep, passionate, so much more so than she had ever experienced.

The continuation of the languid, gentle rhythm did not last long. Narcissa was soon pushing harder, a little faster onto his cock, and he was not one to protest. Her arms clung desperately to Professor Malfoy's hair, to his shirt collar, as he began to thrust upwards into her, his pre-cum becoming lost in her moist, milky secretions. His eyes closed and his head almost fell back, when the kiss was broken, until Narcissa pulled his hair, hard, pushing down very suddenly onto him. Grey eyes met blue, stared resolutely, and did not break – even when Professor Malfoy's cock finally, _finally_, nudged that spot deep within her, causing Narcissa to cry out in genuine unconstrained ecstasy, she fought the urge to close her eyes and allow herself to be lost in a world of darkness. Professor Malfoy must have felt a degree of her pleasure through their bond, or indeed just judged her reaction correctly, for he thrust up into that spot repeatedly, nudging it once more, and again, and again.

Narcissa felt her thighs tremble, her hips shake, gyrating on the tip of his member in order to prolong that pleasure, feel his very tip push and rub repeatedly against that dense secret, deep inside her. She cried out repeatedly, his soft groans lost in her overly loud and inaudible verbalisations which reverberated around the dungeons. As Professor Malfoy pushed harder, faster still, sheathing his entirety inside her, her cries got more frantic, more desperate, breathing harsh and shallow, in time with the unrelenting thrusts.

She felt her body tense, her legs feel somewhat weightless, somewhat cold. It scared her for a moment, and she bit her lip, hard, as she stared into those half-lidded, grey eyes. Suspecting her eyes were ablaze just as much with desire, she tensed, trying to push away the feeling, trying to stop it, but with every thrust the feeling was becoming greater, huger, an encroaching beast, stronger than her, about to devour her, _oh Merlin, oh no, I can't, I can't, I ca-!_

She was the one who broke their untiring, solid gaze; the orgasm which blossomed in the very depths of her body caused her to throw her head back, squeeze her eyes shut, cry out in a long note of undiluted pleasure. The euphoria spread through her body, making her toes, her fingertips, her neglected breasts tingle, causing her entire body to flush a deep red, forcing her to tense repeatedly on Professor Malfoy's cock, deep inside her. He kept thrusting, riding out her orgasm, his own groans and soft utterances becoming more frequent, more desperate since she began to reach her climax – the thoughts and feelings she thrusted forward into his mind were of complete and utter gratification, bliss, of being destroyed and rebuilt in the same moment, of being complete with him held protectively inside her tightness.

When she opened her eyes, Narcissa saw his face, his eyes roll back as his lids closed and his lips parted in a contentment too complete for any consideration of dignity, and knew before he reached his own orgasm that he was going to; brought to the edge by her own peak, he thrusted harder, but more slowly into her, reaching his own. She felt his ejaculation far inside her, the pearly liquid shoot deep into her as he came, his heard ragged breathing and felt the very intensity of his pleasure in the walls of her own mind. She smiled softly, still biting her lip gently, as he gradually slowed his thrusts, breathing heavily, opening his eyes to once again meet hers.

She pushed on the back of his skull, forcing her lips to brush against his. The kiss they shared was passionate, but brief, soft, more affectionate that Narcissa ever thought possible from Professor Malfoy. He had slowed, stopped, his cock still inside her but his erection retreating now. He was still holding her trembling thighs.

"So, is all forgiven for today, Professor?" she whispered shakily, as they parted from the kiss. She stroked his hair fondly, feeling it snake in between her fingers.

Professor Malfoy laughed once, with no mirth. "Yes," he replied, his voice silky, but soft. Quiet. Taking a deep breath, he let Narcissa down, finally pulling the fingers of his consciousness from her own mind, allowing them to resume residence within the remnants of their own mental walls. It felt strange to Narcissa now, like her head was strangely empty, not sharing it with the powerful thoughts of the Legilimens in front of her, now pulling up his underwear and trousers nonchalantly.

Leaning against the wall for support, in fear her trembling legs would give way, mind still hazy from the force of her after-glow, Narcissa wondered aloud, "You are very powerful, being able to sustain Legilimency like that."  
>"And you are a very bright witch knowing of it, let alone knowing Occlumency."<p>

She nodded, not being the most modest of people, and watched as Professor Malfoy picked up his wand and flicked it at the pair of lacy underwear on the floor, wordlessly causing them to levitate into her slender hand.

"You don't want anyone finding them," he justified levelly. Narcissa shook her head. "Come," he continued, when she continued to lean against the wall, "let's get you back to bed."

Narcissa nodded before falling into her professor's outstretched arm, allowing it to be wrapped around her shoulders and letting herself be steered back towards the Slytherin common room. She leant heavily on his side.

* * *

><p>When Lucius returned to his room, barely ten minutes later, the rather odd conflict of feelings which were spiralling through his head caused him to collapse onto the nearest thing, which was the bed rather than his usual habitat of his leather chair. He carelessly placed his wand onto the bedside table, put his elbows on his knees and buried his head in his hands.<p>

_What have I done? _What have I done? _I have ruined everything. All because I could not _control _myself. I had meant to scare her away, that was all! _Stop _her from wanting to see me anymore. How did I get to…?_

Oh but how beautiful, how _vulnerable_ she looked. No man would have been able to resist that, least of all when it was common knowledge, to him at least, that she wanted him. Her face, seeking reassurance, distressed, her imploring tears for security, the shaking of her petite body. It was all too much for him to resist. And he had not meant to do any of it – he had not!

He sighed, rubbing his eyes. It was done now. He was still playing the game, and no gentleman ever regrets a pleasure. So he would not. Not anymore. As long as Miss Black was intelligent enough to keep that beautiful mouth of hers shut, which Lucius was sure that she was, then all would be fine.

By the time he had realised that Dobby was in the room, Lucius had removed his shirt and turned around to fold it up, place it on the bed. The house-elf was staring at its master, wide-eyed on the pouffe by his chair. Lucius noted how gaunt the house-elf looked, how bloodshot its eyes were.

He felt no sympathy whatsoever when it turned its tennis-ball eyes upon Lucius' face and trilled, "Dobby has done what Master commanded. Dobby has followed Misters Albus Dumbledore morning and night." The house-elf swayed upon his precarious perch on the pouffe, eyes lidding slightly in exhaustion.

There was a pause. "And?" Lucius prodded with little patience, his voice threateningly smooth and low.

"And Misters Dumbledore likes his toasts golden brown with a little honey, and Misters Dumbledore takes a walk around the school every night, and Mis-"  
>"I <em>said," <em>Lucius snapped loudly, causing the house-elf to flinch and tremble slightly under the force of its Master's stare, now looking somewhat more awake, "I want relevant information on the _Order of the Phoenix. _Did you manage that you filthy ingrate?"

"Y-yes, Master," Dobby stuttered, wiping its nose on the inside if its raggedy pillow case, "Dobby heard Miss Minerva and Misters Dumbledore talking. They says that there are people in the Order. U-uhm-!" Dobby stammered under the intensity of Lucius' stare, counting the members off on his bony fingers. "Caradoc Dearborn, Benjy Fenwick, Fabian and Gideon Prewett, Edgar Bones and Louisa Bones, Frank and Alice Longbottom, Marlene McKinnon, Dorcas Meadowes." Dobby paused, having run out of fingers, and stared up with terrified eyes as its Master. "Dobby hears i-it a person in the Order who is currently the Ministry's 'reliable source', as they are in contact with one of Lord Voldemort's followers."

Lucius paid close attention to all of these names, repeating them in his head. It was _perfect._

_Oh, Albus, you trusting old fool. You are too arrogant, _Lucius thought slyly, as the house-elf spoon fed him all he needed to know through the headmaster's verbatim account, _and you have much to learn._

"And what of headquarters?" Lucius replied coolly, not allowing the house-elf to know it had pleased him.

"Dobby knows not that, sir. Misters Dumbledore did not tell Miss Minerva that. Dobby is sorry, sir!" the house-elf declared at, again, the venomous look that Lucius bestowed upon it. "A-and apparently Misters Dumbledore is trying to employ more Aurors, other than Frank and Alice Longbottom, to combat Lord Voldemort's increasing rise to power," it murmured, and Lucius knew it was quoting word for word, "like Alastor Moody."

Lucius nodded curtly, finally beginning to fold his shirt. "And that is all you know?"

"Y-yes, Master," the house-elf whimpered, hoping it was enough.

There was a pause in which Lucius decided the house-elf's fate. "Go home. Sleep. Return to your normal duties in the morning," Lucius commanded dully, turning away from the house-elf to signal the end of the conversation. There was a repeat of Dobby's last statement, before the loud snap echoed around the room and Lucius was left alone again.

It did not take long for Lucius to sit down into his leather chair, a glass of red wine on the round table beside him, with a scroll of parchment on his lap, quill scribbling the names which his loyal servant had just reeled off to him. He included information about the banding of the Order of the Phoenix by Albus Dumbledore, about what the Order was trying to achieve, the new defensive measures soon to be set on Hogwarts school and how the Daily Prophet was receiving news from a friend of one of the branded followers. He signed his name proudly at the bottom, pleased that he had managed to get such information for the recipient, and at the top, for the first time, applied his correspondent's name; 'Dark Lord'.

He whistled once, attached the letter to leg of his haughty eagle-owl, indignant from being called to its master's side so late, and sent it off into the darkness ("You know who to send this to."). He watched it soar until he could no longer see it.

Thoughtfully, Lucius shut the window, secured it, and poured himself another glass of red wine, thinking that he deserved it. Turning back to his bed, wine in hand, Lucius Malfoy decided that, all in all, it could not be considered a bad night at all.

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><p><strong>As always, reviews are much loved. Thank you for reading thus far. c: <strong>


	6. Chapter 6

**Okay so recently I have lost quite a lot of confidence as a writer and have spiralled into quite a deep rut of writer's self-loathing. Therefore it is here I will ask, nay shamelessly plea, for reviews or **_**something**_** to obtain constructive criticism/know that people are enjoying this story/want it to continue, else I'll have to postpone writing it while I get myself together or just give it up, start something completely new and forget all about it. Just a hasty sentence will do. Thank you. [/beg]**

**This chapter is the deciding one, therefore I have put quite a lot of my heart and soul into it. As always, I hope you enjoy (and more smut coming up). c:**

* * *

><p><em>I hate that son of a bludger, <em>was Narcissa's first thought. Despite the thick, velvety curtains which surrounded her, the torches in her dormitory were overly bright, the obnoxious light crawling under her eyelids and forcing them open. Sounds of the dormitory's other occupants stirring, the rustling of clothes and creaking of beds, caused her to groan and attempt to turn over, covering her ears with her hands.

All she knew was that she ached. Her head ached, her back ached, her thighs ached, but most of all what lay between them ached; a dull throb to remind her of the night before, punishment for her fornication. Rubbing her eyes with the heel of her hand and thinking that it would be a lesser punishment for Hell's Second Circle to swallow her whole right there and then, she inspected her protesting body, noting the amount of bruises which bloomed like dark flowers over her pale skin.

Her back was littered with them from being pressed against the wall, her neck peppered with miniature love bites, five shadowed marks lurking on the underside of both of her thighs, the size and shape of a man's fingertips. She had not had chance to shower the previous night, for she chose instead to be led into the common room by Professor Malfoy, accept one last, soft kiss, before staggering upstairs to her dormitory. Therefore, plastered between the tops of her thighs, were a whole host of sticky substances she would rather not touch – her own and his. She noticed a slight amount of dried blood and could hazard a guess that the thin shield of skin which proclaimed her virginity had been torn at some point, though it did not take a genius to work that out.

She waited until all sounds of life had left the dormitory, the door shutting softly, before moving at last. Reaching for her wand which lay loyally on the beside table, she tapped the bottom drawer of her nightstand with it once. There was a soft click from within, and she pulled it open.

_Typical man,_ Narcissa thought dully, as she pulled out a sickly-looking phial. It was bright orange, which caused her to immediately turn her nose up at it. _It was lucky I thought of this._

It was not only Madam Sweet's that Narcissa had visited during her disappearing act in Hogsmeade. Fortunately, and quite ironically, quite near to the lingerie shop habited a St. Mungo's pharmacy. The healer behind the counter, a young, floppy-haired man with very small eyes, had been most gracious when Narcissa flushed a deep red in asking about birth control, and had produced the small phial with the obnoxiously orange liquid that the young girl now held in her hand. It had cost her two galleons and three sickles; she had glared quite a lot at the healer at the extortionate price, but had handed over the money from her silken purse nonetheless.

Blessing the fact that she was prepared, she uncorked the bottle and took a sip. It tasted like mouldy pumpkin juice brewed in worn socks, or what she would imagine that to taste like, and smelt like her aunt Walburga. Clenching her eyes shut, she took a large gulp before stoppering the phial, making a quiet and rather undignified rasping noise as the liquid coursed down her throat.

She then rose from her bed, gingerly, for with each movement _something _hurt. Thankfully, it being a Saturday, she picked out a loose pair of jeans and a jumper (the latter being green cashmere, naturally) and wandered to the dormitory bathroom to get some sort of wash.

She did not enjoy being in the dormitory bathroom; she would usually go to the prefect's bathroom, having bribed, seduced or threatened the password out of a prefect of some house or another (Hufflepuffs were easiest to break) but the thought of walking at that moment nearly crippled her. It was therefore with some disdain that she filled the overly small bathtub after having locked the door and removed her nightgown, which she finally realised as had been on the wrong way around all night.

The water was far too hot, but she didn't really mind that. It was soothing on her protesting muscles and skin, and she soon sank so low that her entire body was submerged under the surface. She watched her legs redden at the heat of the water and, flicking her wand which she picked up from the bathroom floor in a series of complicated and intricate motions, charmed soap to lather itself over her, shampoo to knead itself into her hair, lying back to let it do so. She cleaned herself between her thighs without use of magic, being sure to rub away any signs of the previous night.

When she had gone to bed on said night, she had expected herself to cry. Since she had fallen into a deep sleep before she had chance to, she expected herself to cry that morning. But she had not yet, and did not really feel like it. No tears of shame, of lost chastity - nothing. As it was, the thought of the forbidden routine excited her. The butterflies, still present to Narcissa's surprise, pounded in her abdomen at the recollection of her professor's face at his release, of his exhalations in the throes of passion. She now knew how it felt to be taken by a man – a real and experienced man, not a pathetic excuse for one nor a boy – and the lingering impression of such a powerful orgasm covered her eyes with heart-shaped glasses. It was not her first, as she had previously experimented with masturbation, but by far the most powerful. And she had never found that one place inside her which made her shudder and quake with such pleasure and lust – unthinkingly she tried then, in the bath, only to discover that her fingers were too short.

Cursing softly, Narcissa frowned. She sincerely hoped he wouldn't be playing hard to get anymore. Demanding his attention was getting more and more wearisome.

* * *

><p>No gentleman ever regrets a pleasure. This is what Lucius had told himself when he had retired to bed. In the morning, however, he was fairly sure that what he felt was as close to regret as he had ever experienced. There was certainly tribulation striking inside his ribcage at all thoughts of the night before, but also feelings of contentment, of a gratification so complete that to feel such trial to taint it seemed almost blasphemous to his chivalrous upbringing. The internal conflict furrowed his brow as he rose from his bed, began to dress and snapped his fingers to instruct a school house-elf to bring a black coffee, sugarless, to his room. He didn't think he could face the entire Great Hall for breakfast.<p>

Naturally, he drank the coffee in his armchair by the fire, clad in usual attire of a white long-sleeved shirt, the cufflinks a collection of miniscule emeralds, waistcoat (black and made of finest silk today, with ornate but miniscule silver buttons) across which hung the chain of his pocket watch, and black trousers. He had tied his hair back, collected in a small black ribbon fashioned into a bow, with a thick cloak draped over the end of his bed, ready to be worn.

Being a Saturday so close to an important quidditch match, Lucius intended to observe a team practise to match sure they were all in good shape, on form, ready to make Gryffindor flounder under the intensity of the Slytherin team. Despite the weather, which had been steadily getting worse as November crept relentlessly on, Lucius was quite content to watch his team practise in order to find any flaws in formation and rectify them with the team Captain, Master Crowley, before they could cost them being defeated in a real match. His own quidditch days as Captain, and keeper, gave him the experience for Master Crowley to take his advice without question, and more often than not the team came off the better for it.

_Better be out there than in here,_ Lucius intoned to himself, staring into the dark liquid of his coffee listlessly and trying not to imagine Miss Black's face. He should not have done it. He should not. She was – _is_, Lucius reminded himself – a young girl, and nothing more. He had no right to take her virginity, to tear her of the chance to wear white on her wedding day and give herself completely to a man, even if that man was a Pureblood noble whom Miss Black was arranged to marry purely for gain of both of the families. Even if that man would never love her.

But then, Lucius continued to himself, still glaring down into his coffee, nostrils flaring, he had shown her one night which she was likely to never have again. A night with an experienced man who could show her the untainted pleasures of a woman's flesh – she was not likely to have that again. Better him than…

He sighed, rubbed his eyes with his forefinger and thumb, took a long sip of his coffee. To argue with himself was becoming tiresome. To justify his actions was impossible, but to tell himself to no longer be interested in Miss Black and regret the night before was just as unfeasible. Better he stop thinking of her altogether.

He tipped the delicate school china cup up, drinking all of the liquid within including the strong, bitter dregs at the bottom, before leaving it on the round table at the side of him. Lucius then rose from his chair, shouldered and fastened the thick winter cloak beneath his chin, and retrieved his cane from the side of his armchair. With a small, resigned sigh he left the comfort of his room for the dungeons beyond, the door of his bedroom melting back into the wall and appearing as though it was not there at all when he closed it behind him.

By the time Lucius had arrived on the quidditch pitch, he was quite pleased that he had chosen to wear his hair up. The wind was biting, and the rain was indecisive about whether to fall or not, one or two icy needles plummeting from the heavens at a time, frequently but not enough to consider it really precipitating. It was not yet cold enough for snow, but there was a thin layer of frost over the grass of the grounds which caused a soft crunch under Lucius' feet, and a thin mist was lingering low to the ground, giving the entire castle a foreboding, desolate demeanour which was exaggerated under the steel-grey sky.

The pitch itself was no different, only the ground had been kicked off from and trampled on so much that it was much more wet mud than frost, Lucius discovered as he emerged onto it from the empty boy's changing rooms. Being careful to keep his pristinely shined shoes as clean as possible, he strode into the middle of the grounds, cloak sweeping behind him. His head turned skywards as he walked, watching his quidditch team soar around him – too high up for him to distinguish one from the other, but a few, like Master Goyle, he could recognise from the amount his broom buckled under his weight.

Lucius whistled once, a loud and high-pitched sound that rang around the stands of the pitch. The boys, as the Slytherin team was entirely male because, well, females just weren't as good at the sport, immediately swooped down to circle around their head of house. They were clad in their quidditch clothes, with their various pieces of armoured wear - shin pads, chest pads, gloves – with their hair plastered to each of their foreheads due to fresh sweat and water droplets from flying in the low mist. Their boots and shin guards for the most part were caked in mud, as were the tails of their broomsticks, all Nimbus 1500s. The Nimbus company had only been founded just five years previous, but they were the best make that money could buy and, of course, the model which the Slytherin boys held was the newest and most powerful broom created by Devlin Whitehorn. The collection of Nimbus 1500s had been purchased for his team by Lucius himself. A smug smirk twisted his lips at seeing his riches being put to good use.

Lucius' expression did not last long though. He scanned his eyes around the boys: chasers, Master Flint, Master Black and Master Greengrass; beaters, Master Lestrange and Master Goyle; keeper, Master Nott. Lucius was careful to avoid the eyes of the Black boy. He may have only been Miss Black's cousin, but thinking of the surname alone was enough to send him spiralling back into the deep internal conflict. "Where is Master Crowley?" Lucius demanded. The seeker, and Captain, was missing.

The rest of the boys shrugged. "If 'e has any sense 'e'll still be in bed," Master Greengrass muttered, his pointed face forming a scowl, shoving the tail of his broom into the soft earth and leaning heavily on it, "Merlin knows it's a helluva lot warmer 'n' drier th'n out 'ere."

"He was in the common room last I saw him, Lucius. Said he'd be out in a minute, but he hasn't turned up yet," Master Lestrange shrugged helpfully, landing with a squelch on the mud and sliding easily off his broom. He pushed his mop of dark hair, usually curly but currently wetted down to his scalp, from his face.

Lucius flared his nostrils only slightly at Master Lestrange referring to him by his first name, but was almost so used to it that he didn't bother to protest. "Stop complaining, Master Greengrass. And he had best turn up soon. I intend to make sure you're all prepared for the first quidditch match."

"Don't sweat it," Master Nott cut in, waving his hand and helping lug Master Goyle out of the mud and upright, since he was having trouble lifting his bulk from the broom which was trembling and twitching under his weight and so had simply collapsed off sideways. "We'll trounce those Gryffindor scum. Once Regulus here actually manages to score a goal."

"Hey!" Master Black protested indignantly, jabbing Master Nott in the shin with the wooden end of his broom, "You're better than the Gryffindor keeper, so it's not accurate. And I can barely see in this weather. Plus I'm cold and tired." He kicked the mud at his feet moodily.

Lucius still ignored looking at Master Black, panning his vision to look at the whole team. "You can all rest and get warm when you're holding up the House Cup. I'll even buy you a butterbeer apiece to warm you, if that's what it takes."

"A firewhiskey and you've got yourself a deal, Sir," Master Nott suggested nonchalantly.

Lucius smirked. "Win by enough and maybe I'll slip a drop into your morning pumpkin juice."

"Poison if we lose?" Master Lestrange contributed amusedly, his broomstick perched over his shoulders. His arms were bent, wrists lying heavily on the broomstick at either side to keep it on his shoulders, beater's bat in his hand.

"We'll see about that. As a teacher both would lose me my job."

"I am sure good old Albus would prefer we were drunk than poisoned, Professor," muttered Nott, one side of his mouth lifting into a crooked smirk, "and besides, bribery as a teacher may lose you your job anyway. I'm fairly sure butterbeer for winning the house tournament counts as bribery. Perhaps we should tell Professor Dumbledore about that. Get you fired."

"And have Professor Sprout as your new head of house?" Lucius goaded, unable to keep the entertainment from his voice.

The boys chortled, Goyle guffawing a few seconds after the rest had begun and silencing himself only after the rest had finished.

"Keep practising," Lucius continued when no one else spoke, a smirk still playing at his lips, "while I go and find Master Crowley. Master Lestrange, remember to aim those bludgers" – he gestured upwards, where the volatile balls could be heard hurtling through the air fairly nearby by the high-pitched rush of the wind – "at people in the opposing team when you beat them."

"Ay ay, Luci," Master Lestrange smirked, mockingly standing to attention and saluting Lucius. He was on his broom and had kicked off from the ground too fast to see the professor flare his nostrils and exhale rather exasperatedly.

As Lucius turned on heel and swept back across the pitch towards the changing rooms, Master Greengrass called, "Try a potions classroom if 'e's not in the common room, Prof. 'E may be with some girlie while it's empty again." Lucius sneered at the broad accent with some disdain, not allowing anyone to see this, but nodded once.

* * *

><p>As it was, Sicillius Greengrass was quite right about Tobias Crowley. While Professor Malfoy had been on his way to the quidditch pitch, the girl that he had very pointedly not been thinking about had wandered downstairs to the common room, yawning and now very clean, clad in her overly huge cashmere jumper. Narcissa was glad that she had worn it, for the temperature in the common room was considerably less than the snug dormitories, despite the newly stoked fire burbling vivaciously in its hearth.<p>

The common room was fairly empty, with most people seemingly have gone to Hogsmeade despite the dreadful weather. First-years and second-years were scattered about in small, tight-knit groups as though any stragglers would be sacrificed, looking over their shoulders like meercats as Narcissa entered the common room. Severus acknowledged her from the corner with a cordial nod of the head, but soon returned to what looked like a potions textbook which he was, again, scribbling in.

One of the only seventh years left, Margarethe Zabini was reclining herself over an entire sofa, wearing very little despite the cold, her luscious brunette hair fanned out like the feathers of a dark and mysterious peacock. Narcissa always thought her hair was distasteful, a dull cloud of murk, and didn't see why most of the male population of the school wanted her hand – or some part of her – to be theirs. She was nothing, really, to write home about, and she had a tongue of venom. _Though, _Narcissa muttered to herself, approaching her usual armchair by the fire, _it's that tongue that most of the male population _do _want._

In the armchair beside the sofa sat Crowley, the only sixth-year still in the common room. His eyes turned to Narcissa from across the room as she sat down, tugging the sleeves of her jumper over her hands and bringing her knees up to her chin to keep warm. She seemed to be naturally cold, and often found it hard to get warm, her conservative and overly snug dress sense probably being the reason why she had less attention than Zabini who seemed to not mind the goose-bumps that lifted her olive skin. The way the boy was looking at her however, his blue eyes staring her down through the untamed, frizzy mane of his dark blond hair, made her feel like she was completely naked. She didn't like it. She brought her knees up closer to her chest.

Conscious of the boy's intent stare still trained on her, Narcissa trailed a demure hand over her throat, making sure that the pale make-up, which she had also retrieved from the bottom drawer of her nightstand after her bath, was even over her skin. The last thing she needed was someone spotting one of the love bites on her neck, and the intensity of Crowley's stare made her wonder if he'd notice one of the bruises, had she missed one.

To Narcissa's irritation, it did not take long for Crowley to strike. He ended the hushed conversation with Zabini swiftly, glancing slyly at Narcissa quite often throughout it, before rising from his chair and prowling over to her. Narcissa, as though feeling him come closer, stared pointedly into the jade flames of the fire, willing him to either walk past her or turn around before reaching her. The wand up her sleeve was gripped harder by her hand. No such luck.

"So, Cissa," Crowley lilted, giving her a charming smile as he stood in front of her. When Narcissa reluctantly turned to look at him, after closing her eyes in exasperation at the name, she saw his hands were in the pockets of his jeans and he was standing like some sort of model. She stifled a mockingly amused snort.

"_Nar_cissa to you," she spat back at him coldly, "but yes, _Toby?"_

Crowley's smile, much to Narcissa's satisfaction, wavered into a scowl, but soon returned. "I was just wondering if you'd like to go to Hogsmeade with me next weekend?" He flashed her what he clearly thought was a dazzling smile. To Narcissa it was a predator bearing its fangs before devouring its prey whole. She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Surely," she muttered levelly, giving him a politely interested look, widening her eyes just a little to better portray an idea of innocence, "you would rather go with Margarethe or someone older and prettier." She tilted her head. "Besides, we don't know each other very well."

He laughed softly, sitting down, uninvited, on the edge of her armchair. She shifted as far away from him as possible. "Come now, Ci- Narcissa. No one is prettier than you." She stared at him coldly through the clearly fake compliment. _Does he think I'm just another vapid whore like Margarethe? _"And," he continued, "we know enough about each other. Surely your sister, Dromeda, has told you a lot about me." Narcissa cast her mind back to when Andy had ever mentioned him; when complaining of the people in her Defence Against the Dark Arts class, 'Oh, and Tobias Crowley, he's a slimy bastard alright. He'd rather use a killing curse on his own mother than get his hands dirty, I reckon, but would be quite happy to get someone else to do his work. Slytherin through and through, and not the alright kind'. Narcissa shrugged distractedly, a small smile playing at her lips. "No, she hasn't mentioned you."

"Oh, pity. Then maybe you should walk with me! I'll tell you all you need to know." He stared down at her, casting her another toothy smile.

Narcissa felt her stomach plummet and shook her head after a moment of fake consideration. "Erm, no thank you, I think I need to… go to the library. If you'll excuse me." She rose to leave the common room, but soon regretted having ever opened her mouth.

"Oh, brilliant. I'll accompany you there." He easily slid off the arm of the chair beside her, looking at the back of her head expectantly as Narcissa stood. As such, he didn't see her roll her eyes or bite her lip to stifle a curse. Without further word she swept out of the common room, hearing him follow closely behind her. She was very conscious of the fact that she had worn vanilla perfume, more out of habit than anything else now, and hoped that Crowley couldn't smell it.

By the time the portrait swung closed, Narcissa was walking as fast as she could while remaining within the realms of lady-like towards the Entrance Hall, completely ignoring Crowley who strode beside her, matching two of her decorous little steps with one of his own.

"So," he simpered conversationally, his hands still in his pockets, "maybe you should tell me about yourself."

Though Narcissa's favourite subject was invariably herself, she did not want to tell him anymore than he already knew, which was thankfully not much. She shot him daggers but, with the desire to talk about herself being too strong, cleared her throat, pulling awkwardly at the collar of the jumper. "Well, I'm a Black. I'm seventeen next month. I am-"

"Ah, Narcissa that's great, but," Crowley cut in distractedly, finally pulling a hand out of his jeans to stop her by putting it on her chest. If looks were hexes he would have probably not survived the one she bestowed on him then. "I think I left my wand in my Potions class." He pushed her towards the door which, coincidentally and very fortunately, was right beside them. "Mind if we go and look?"

Narcissa noticed that Crowley's fingernails had dirt beneath them. She held back a sneer. "Of course not, Tobias." Biting the inside of her lip to stop from cursing him, to maintain her demure and pristine appearance and inadvertently but forcibly reminding herself of Professor Malfoy, she allowed herself to be pushed into the empty classroom, the door shutting behind her.

The classroom was indeed empty, occupied only by a single empty portrait on the far wall and a potion bubbling away to itself on the teacher's desk. As was Professor Slughorn's preference, the tables were set into groups around the room rather than individual rows of desks as teachers usually like to set out their classrooms. Narcissa gripped her wand a little harder, still hidden up her sleeve. He proceeded to push her against the nearest table, looking nonchalantly over her shoulder.

"Hm no, not here," he murmured loftily, "what a shame."

She rolled her eyes. "You don't think I'm really that stupid, do you?" she muttered lowly, her voice much more like a growl than she intended. She leant back as Crowley moved in against her, inclining his head towards hers. Both of his hands were now out of his pockets, pinning her to the table by holding them at either side of her-

_Like, against a dungeon wall, she had been pinned by Professor Malfoy._

-and he was smiling. She could feel his breath on her cheek. It smelt like meat and lemon. She cringed, tried to push him away, but he was too strong, and only smirked at her hands on his chest.

"Tobias, stop," she commanded, sincerely wanting him to get as far away from her as possible, but he was unperturbed. She slipped the wand from the sleeve of her jumper as discreetly as possible, pointing the tip at his chest. "I'm warning you."

"Just relax," he snarled, the smirk twisting his lips. He was coming closer, closer, so close she could see the short hairs of his plucked eyebrows. She poised, ready to shout come sort of curse. _Which should I use, the bedazzling hex? Instant scalping hex? Knee-reversal hex?_

Before she could declare one, however, the door burst open. "Master Crowley, could you please-" The voice stopped. Narcissa felt her stomach fall straight through the Potions classroom floor. _Professor Malfoy. _

Crowley moved away from Narcissa immediately, rolling his eyes. "Professor, can't you see I'm a little busy here?" Professor Malfoy however was looking straight past him, into Narcissa's eyes. She was staring back, and she found her eyes wide, her head shaking minutely. She could feel a steady flush taint her cheeks, bringing her wand back up into her sleeve protectively.

Professor Malfoy's nostrils flared. He raised his head, looking down at her over his nose. She immediately looked at the cold stone floor, as though in shame, not wanting to meet those steely, stoic eyes. "Crowley. Quidditch pitch. Now."

Even Crowley didn't dare argue with Professor Malfoy's tone. He nodded once, immediately skirted around the professor and disappeared back to the common room to get his quidditch gear. Professor Malfoy didn't look at Crowley as he left the room, instead kept his eyes trained ceaselessly on Narcissa.

There was a very awkward and pregnant silence. "Professor," Narcissa started in a soft, barely audible mumble, "it's not what it loo-"

"Return to your common room, Miss Black," he muttered emotionlessly, after a short while. If he felt any sort of jealousy, or indeed any feeling at all, he hid it very well. "I do not expect to see this sort of thing from you again." He turned on heel and swept from the room, leaving Narcissa alone. From the teacher's desk, the potion made a sound which remarkably resembled laughter before it carried on bubbling.

* * *

><p>It had been a week since Lucius had caught Master Crowley and Miss Black together in the Potions classroom. He had spent the past week blatantly ignoring her eye, and her efforts to get him alone, or to get another detention. Maybe it was a little immature to be ignoring her, but he couldn't help it. It was a good thing she had a boyfriend, wasn't it? No, not when he had taken her only the night before he caught her with him. But he was not jealous of Master Crowley. He was not. He refused to be jealous of the little brat who was able to freely breathe in Miss Black's scent, who could hold her to him without a question, or who could kiss her without having to worry about losing his job. Despite the fact that he had picked every flaw possible in Crowley's every move during quidditch practise, and scolded him for every mistake that the rest of the team made, and spoke coldly to him during class, and got annoyed that he was in his house because he could not take points from him, Lucius was most certainly not jealous of him. And he did not think of Master Crowley's arm around Miss Black in his bed at night, her hand on his chest, looking wonderfully, beautifully peaceful. Not at all. He was just…worried about Miss Black telling Master Crowley, and him losing his job and his position as the Dark Lord's main informant. That was all.<p>

Lucius sighed, leant back into the water of the teacher's bathroom. He was alone in the Olympic-sized bath, leaning against the edge with his elbows propped up on it. There was a ledge under the water on which he sat, reclining back, eyes closed. He had today extinguished the torches around the cavernous room and lit a number of candles which floated around at regular intervals, long and white and steadily dripping wax which, instead of hitting the floor, simply got smaller the further it fell and evaporated. Over the water of the bath descended a fine mist, a bright white in colour which was lit up by the candles around the room. His clothes lay in a neat pile behind him, cane on top, and beside him, in a row of size order stood a number of hair care and self-cleaning products.

He was content in the bath. No one could disturb him. He was allowed to his own devices; he could think about all he wanted and refuse to be jealous as much as he wanted and did not have to answer to anyone or anything. Even better at that time, at night, when he knew he could walk out of the bathroom and not have to face anyone, but return straight to his room and retire to bed with a glass of wine without having to set eyes on another living soul (the ghosts were a different matter, but most refrained from staring at him like the students tended to do). Better, also, when the rain was pounding on the roof of the castle, reverberating around the entire building, the sound of the glacial sheets of needles in excessive volume in the spacious bathroom. To know the storm was raging outside, while he was being surrounded by balmy, relaxing water caused Lucius' lips to twitch upwards into a self-gratified smile, breathing deeply. He could quite happily sink under the surface and never recur, never have another thought of Miss Black or Master Crowley or any other business of being a teacher or the Dark Lord. Just encapsulated by blissfully warm water with his hair floating around him like rays of sunlight and looking up at the shimmering candles from under the surface and the encroaching darkness which would finally consume him. So peaceful was he that he could quite happily do it – until, as though from nowhere, the door of the bathroom unlocked.

The bright emerald light in the eyes of the colossal snake carved into the wall flickered and died, and the heavy door swung open at the far end of the room. The underside of Lucius' forearms instinctively pressed down hard onto the edge of the bath as he sat up, eyes opening to look upon his intruder.

He squinted in an attempt to make out the dark shape at the end of the room, blinking hard. _That looks like… but surely not! _

"Miss Black?" he exclaimed in bewilderment, thinking that maybe he'd fallen asleep or really had sunk under the water and this was some kind of fatal apparition. To say it was divine, or indeed heavenly, was perhaps an exaggeration, but the sight was definitely skywards inclined. As his eyes adjusted he processed that she was wearing a silken black shirt which exposed her strapless shoulders, a pair of shorts beneath this, with long green socks, decorated with ornate buttons just under the knee, and black heeled shoes. Her hair was, again, the soft curls that Lucius was becoming all too used to, but were captured in a ribbon high on her head. "How did you-? What are you doing here?"

For a while she didn't speak, merely closed the door behind her and slowly approached him at the side of the bath. He looked down to make sure that the thin mist was still suspended over the bath, hiding him from her view. It was. He decided that if it was a dream, or if he was dead, to watch her so elegantly and leisurely prowl towards him was worth it. "Kittering," he murmured under his breath, and again the bathroom locked, the snake's eyes lighting back up.

He watched her as she approached. Her eyes were trying to remain locked on him, he could tell, but the room was too much for her to resist looking around. She had to crane her neck back to look at the immense and convoluted carvings of the lion, raven, badger and snake, and had to tilt her head back completely to look upon the non-existent ceiling, the walls stretching up into nothing just blackness. She ran her fingers across the walls of light brown granite, buffed and shined to perfection, her hips swaying as she walked. As she approached, got clearer, Lucius finally guessed that she was not a phantom, but was there, and was quite real.

"What do you think, Professor?" she murmured quietly, silkily, "I want to talk to you. You have been avoiding me since last Saturday and thus have not given me a chance to explain myself." She stopped beside him, looked down upon him, tilted her head.

Lucius broke their gaze and looked straight ahead, across the bright white surface of the water. He kept his forearms pressed firmly down. "Surely there is nothing to explain. You are clearly with Master Crowley. I am not in a position to do anything about that, nor would I want to. It is too dangerous for me to keep seeing you like this. It should be ended now." He flicked his vision to the corners of his eyes in order to see her remove her shoes and roll down her long socks to expose her white calves, leaving them near his own pile of clothes.

"See, this is where you are wrong." He heard the rustling as Miss Black began to remove her shirt over her head. He flared his nostrils, about to inform her heatedly that she should leave that very moment, but she carried on in a gentle purr, "I have no interest in Tobias Crowley at all. He came onto me, and I intended to curse him when he got too close." He heard the shirt quietly, softly, fall to the ground. "You really think I would kiss that? That silly little boy"- There was the soft sound of a zip undoing, the sound of material slipping down smooth legs and hitting the floor. –"after you?"

Lucius smirked. _Flattery will get you everywhere indeed._ "Is that so, Miss Black?" he murmured softly. After his many days and lessons of ignoring her, he felt somewhat sheepish at this news, but didn't allow himself to show it. When she didn't respond, he cleared his throat and cast a cautious look over his shoulder. His eyes slowly roamed upwards, and he found himself having to clear his throat again.

She was wearing nothing. His vision trailed up her slender, shapely legs, following the curve of her hips. His eyes lingered for a moment or two on her pubic bone, the mound dark with course hair, trimmed and tantalizingly covering her sex. He glanced up her flat stomach, taking note of the smooth dip of her waist, to the gentle swells of her breasts, small but full and pert, nipples a soft, tender pink on the white of her chest. His eyes carried on up her neck, to her angular face, her wide, nervous eyes like a deer in headlights. She was blushing.

_How strange that I have taken her, yet not seen her naked,_ he intoned reasonably, as though it were a perfectly natural thing for a young girl to be standing naked before him.

"Do you want it to end now?" she murmured softly. Her arms shifted from her sides, her petite hands finally moving to cover her shadowed genitalia and breasts as best she could, blushing more deeply. "Do you regret it?"

He was about to say yes, and that she should leave immediately, but to lie so whole-heartedly would be near impossible, not to mention not very gentlemanly. The way she looked at him, biting her lip under his intense gaze, reminded him of a petrified rabbit. That or a doll about to be thrown away – Lucius was not one to be blinded by rose-tinted glasses, to juxtapose anyone to romantic ideals, comparing thee to a summer's day and all that nonsense, but there was really no other way that he could think of Miss Black, save as a china doll. One that could, by him, be so easily broken.

"How did you know my password?" Lucius inquired evenly, returning his gaze to look out across the water. He heard Miss Black shift behind him, approaching the edge of the bath. She languidly sat down, at the lip of the tub beside him, dipping her toes into the water, joined by her ankles, and gradually her calves, up to the knees.

Her voice was quiet, as though in an attempt to not agitate him, keep him calm. "Last week I followed you in an effort to get you alone so you may allow me to explain. I saw you talking to the door, so I used a charm to improve my hearing. I heard your password. I asked someone in the common room what this room is and" – She shrugged. – "here I am."

Lucius made a small noise of acknowledgement but made no other comment. He felt her shift a little closer.

"What does it mean, Professor?" she inquired softly, clearly trying to begin a conversation, "Kittering?"

Lucius stared hard at the mist on the water's surface, sighing very quietly. He could tell that Miss Black was looking at him with those wide, azure eyes and breathed in heavily. "My mother's maiden name," he admitted after a long, deliberating pause, "Capella Viola Auriga Kittering. The woman from which most of my appearance is derived." He laughed humourlessly. "The poor girl whom my father chose to bear his children. Just a Pureblood bride for a male Pureblood heir." He bit his tongue to stop himself from continuing, thinking he had said more than enough. He awkwardly cleared his throat.

"She must be beautiful," Miss Black breathed, playfully.

Lucius nodded slowly, sombrely despite the compliment. "Oh, she was." He cleared his throat again, looked at Miss Black out of the corner of his eye. "But you did not come here to ask that, did you?"

There was a gentle ripple against his skin as Miss Black lowered herself into the water. Lucius heard a soft, content sigh as the hot water surrounded her, felt the waves under the water hitting his shins as she slowly kicked her legs beneath the surface to stay afloat. Her hair, being contained high up on her scalp, was untouched by the bath. "No, Professor, I did not," she whispered shyly, moving towards him, gently pushing water back with her arms to pull herself forwards. Her knees found the ledge on which Lucius was sitting at either side of his hips, straddling his lap. Miss Black bit her lip, smiling just a little, her hands finding and fitting perfectly into the small dips between Lucius' collar bone and the base of his neck.

Lucius didn't move, his forearms remaining pressed down into the bathroom floor. Miss Black didn't seem too perturbed by this, for still she looked upon his with polite interest, that tiny smile gracing the corners of her mouth. When neither said anything, merely stared into one another's eyes, Miss Black was the first to break the gaze. She looked to Lucius' left, eyes wandering over the shampoos and soaps lined up in such an orderly fashion. He saw her stifle a giggle. "'For sensitive skin', Sir?" she inquired, clearly rather amused at this.

Lucius' expression didn't change, but he had to repress a small smile of his own. "What of it?"

"Well," Miss Black shrugged reasonably, "with that and your…lack of bodily hair _anywhere_" – She trailed a tender hand down Lucius' hairless, pale chest, her fingertips lingering on a faint but rather long scar, shining a bright white even against the alabaster of his skin just above the water line. –"and your over-zealous concern with personal hygiene…" – She motioned to the extensive amount of bottles and products with her head. –"Well, one wonders."

"I suppose I am just lucky that my hair follicles do not detest me as much as Master Lestrange's seem to. And are you implying that I am _homosexual,_ Miss Black?"

She shrugged nonchalantly. "Perhaps. Maybe you're just inferring that. Though implying that you have seen Rodolphus naked really doesn't help your case, you know."  
>Lucius scowled. "He walks around very near naked in the quidditch changing rooms, it is hard not to notice, Miss Black. Allow me to ensure you that he is quite safely your sister's." A slight pause, in which Miss Black raised an ample eyebrow. "Do I look homosexual to you?"<p>

"Do you really want me to answer that?"

Lucius made a rather indignant noise in protest, nostrils flaring. She seemingly found it impossible to hold in her giggles anymore, and let one escape her lips. It reverberated around the room, accompanying the relentless slamming of the rain for a moment, before fading and dying.

"Of course not, Professor," she cooed, leaning down to brush her lips across the scar on his chest.

He almost instantly relaxed despite himself, letting out a half-indignant, half-content noise. "A bludger," he explained to her unasked question, "hit me during a match in my fifth year. Broke quite a few ribs. This was before all this…armoured padding and protective gear."

"You poor thing, Sir," she simpered in reply. Miss Black kissed the scar delicately before straightening only a little, her lips finding his neck instead. He remained quiet but his eyes slowly closed, lips twitching upwards into a soft smirk. She kissed and teased his throat delicately, her hands stroking down his chest and back up again, her hips swaying tantalizingly close to his own under the water (Lucius thought that the very latter movement was probably involuntary for she did it so effortlessly). Her mouth gradually made its way up, kissing over his jaw, over the smooth, shaven skin of his lower cheek, to his lips.

Even when her lips met his, their eyes sliding closed, Lucius kept his arms firmly pressed against the bathroom floor at the side of the tub behind him. He longed to remove them, to wrap them around Miss Black's lithe frame, and, as she flicked her tongue against his bottom lip, her arms encircling his neck, he languidly lifted his right arm, holding her delicate hip in his deft fingers. There was a soft noise of contentment from Miss Black and she lowered her hips, moving hers into his. The gentle grind elicited from him a quiet groan which was lost in the passionate kiss, growing steadily deeper.

Any guilt that Lucius had felt had disappeared sometime previous, replaced only by the desire for her which was becoming far too familiar to him. His hand coursed teasingly languidly up and down their spine, sometimes pulling her hips closer to his, sometimes pushing her shoulders to bring her lips crushing together. Their heads twisted and shifted, parting lips only to take in a breath before returning to the passionate embrace, neither of their eyes opening.

Miss Black's hips rocked rhythmically into Lucius', grinding quickly but teasingly gently into his crotch. The ripples she created with her movements in the warm water intensified the sensations, the small currents teasing his arousal. Miss Black's nails dug into his body, dragging underneath his shoulder blades, over the back of his neck, all the way over his shoulders and onto his chest, leaving angry red marks due to his skin being so hot and damp. She noted how he bit the inside of his bottom lip, breaking the kiss briefly to do so, when her nails raked over the back of his neck, and proceeded to take advantage of it; the nail of her forefinger found Lucius' hairline under the sleek platinum sheets, delicately scratched along it, before grating all the way down with all of her nails. The groan he let out, completely involuntarily, made Miss Black's lips curve up into a triumphant smile which he did not see, due to his eyes still being shut and his head falling back, pushing into her nails. She then teasingly gently stroked the scratches, kissing over his jaw, his throat, heated and passionate, sucking and biting the tender skin. Her hand cupped the back of his neck, fingertips slowly moving in small circles and waves, brushing and massaging, alternating the patterns of her fingers.

Lucius' auditory reactions were enough to confirm to Miss Black that her administrations were working. The stiffening of his penis beneath her, the feeling of his arousal becoming an erection, just clarified it further. She angled herself for her clitoris to rub against his head as she ground into him and they both let out soft but harsh breaths, quickening slightly. As though in response to their heated, flushed bodies and increased pace, the rain cascaded more desperately on the castle, causing a crescendo ricocheting around the room like a drum-roll towards their climaxes, spurring them on like encouragement from some voyeuristic entity high in the heavens somewhere.

"Miss Black," Lucius choked out hoarsely as she began to grind harder into his crotch, finally opening his eyes though they remained half-lidded. "Narcissa," he rectified, given the situation, "please. I…" Anything else was lost if a soft groan of ecstasy, for Miss Black's hand had left his shoulder and had swiftly swept beneath the water, holding Lucius' erection in those slender, dextrous fingers. She bit her lip and, staring with her own half-lidded gaze into his, aligned the head of his member with her entrance and slowly began to lower herself onto him.

Lucius' hand gently stroked the small of Miss Black's back as she let out a soft exhalation of discomfort. He felt her having to stretch to accommodate him again and remained still, allowing her to gradually impale herself on his cock. She involuntarily clenched her tight cunt as she eased herself down, making Lucius exhale a soft, breathy groan.

It took Miss Black a few rhythms of lifting her hips up slightly and pushing back down further to take Lucius inside her fully. Each time she did this he felt hot water swirl around his shaft at her movements, intensifying the taut wet heat of her inner walls, swollen from blood. Eventually she settled down onto his lap, having encapsulated his entire member inside her, wriggling her hips slightly as though to become accustomed to the feeling. With prompting from Lucius' firm but gentle grip on her lower back, Miss Black began to rock her hips backwards and forwards, grinding and rubbing her clitoris into his pubic bone, letting out soft, rhythmic moans. They began slowly, soon getting just a little faster, Miss Black lifting and lowering herself just a little to join the rocking motion.

Still guiding her to move upon his cock, Lucius leant forwards into her, kissing her neck, tasting the heated skin. His left forearm still pressed downward against the bath's edge, he trailed his tongue lower, down to her breast, taking a hardened nipple into his mouth, licking and sucking, biting very gently and teasing the little peak. Her hand found the back of his head, gripping his hair, moaning softly as she ground back and forwards more sharply on his cock, lifting her hips up and pushing back down respectively to make a steady rhythmic motion. It got faster as she let out a long, low moan, Lucius' mouth lingering on Miss Black's right breast, sucking a little harder than necessary and leaving a large, crimson bruise. She tugged his hair hard, pulling his head up for his lips to meet hers again. His hand left her back and trailed up to tease her neglected left breast, taking the tender pink pinnacle within his fingertips and very gently rolling, pulling.

Miss Black's motion was getting quicker, more desperate, frantic, needy. She closed her eyes and pushed down hard, pulled up abruptly, rubbed her clitoris into his pelvis, her nails digging into Lucius' shoulder blade and fingers pulling his hair. Her breathing was heavy, laboured, letting out gentle moans with each exhalation which became heavier with every passing minute. Lucius could feel her legs tense at either side of him, the ripples created by her consistent movements buffeting his own, and she leant her head back, milking Lucius' member harder and faster, squeezing her eyes shut and curling her toes. The heat of the water, of their flushed bodies, Lucius groaning louder and more huskily now in time with her movements, brought her over the edge first, her inner walls tensing and releasing rhythmically as an orgasm of soaring intensity rippled through her body.

The man tensed as she reached her climax, controlling himself before she could do the same to him with her long, loud cry of bliss, her cunt clenching hard around his shaft as she came. Her face was slave to an expression of utter gratification, her skin seemingly glowing in the candlelight, eyes shut and cerise lips parted to allow the drawn-out, pleasured moan to be released from her throat. She slowed her motions during the release, moving just enough to ride out her orgasm, before slumping forwards into him, her head in the crook of his neck, eyes closed in the power of her after-glow, arms tight around his shoulders.

Lucius, however, was not yet finished. He, finally and unthinkingly, brought his left arm from the side of the bath and wrapped it around Miss Black's upper torso, holding her to him tightly. He felt her expel a small gasp of surprise as he easily turned them around, her back now pressing against the side of the bath where he had been sitting only moments before, but soon tightened her hold on him, her legs apparently of their own accord wrapping securely around his waist. During this he did not remove himself from her, and still did not; gradually he began to pulsate his hips, pushing forwards and pulling away regularly.

He felt her fingers twist back into his hair and hissed softly at her pulling, hard, moaning breathily into his neck. Unwrapping his arms from around her to grip the lip of the bath, Lucius used his arms as leverage to rock his hips harder into her tightness, felt her kissing his neck desperately, sucking hard at the base of his throat and biting his collar bone, gasping the word, "Professor," fairly often in a cracked, throaty moans. Her lithe, petite body tightened around him as he thrusted faster, harder, deeper, the water thankfully making it easier to slide within her slick walls. Her hand in his hair was trembling, pulling upwards by the roots with the intensity created by his pounding hips, and her own hips were doing likewise, forced into paroxysm by the consistent rubbing of Lucius' tip against the g-spot far inside her.

He felt the hot weight swirling in his abdomen, that familiar feeling of impending release, and was careful to buck his hips in a manner to rub against Miss Black's clitoris. The desperate biting of his neck he supposed was indication of Miss Black's encroaching second orgasm, and was not complaining at the feeling. He groaned low and loud, lost in ecstasy, and closed his eyes. He brought his right arm to curl around her narrow shoulders in a protective gesture, holding her tightly to him, still rocking hard and deep into her.

The second rhythmic clenching of Miss Black's inner walls pushed Lucius over the edge at the same instant as her. His arm tensed, holding her impossibly close as they both shuddered, Lucius biting his lip in order to not cry out as she had done at the feeling of his hot seed spill into her. Their breathing was ragged, muscles tense and bodies trembling, eyes shut to better savour the instant of release.

For a while they remained like that in the tight embrace, Miss Black still pressed against the side of the bathtub, until she kissed Lucius' neck and removed her hand from his hair, pressing it against his chest. She gently began to push him away. Compliant in his after-glow, Lucius moved away to sit back on the ledge, finally removing his receding erection from her and leaning heavily against the side of the tub. Miss Black shifted to sit on his lap, her head still in the crook of his neck. Their eyes were closed, their breathing becoming slowly more controlled, his hand playing at the small of her back with hers on his chest. His left arm, in his state of relaxation, Lucius left floating on the surface of the water, underside pointing upwards.

It was Miss Black who opened her eyes first and, naturally, Miss Black who noticed his left arm first. She stared at it confusedly for a moment before removing her hand from his chest, reaching out to touch what looked like a tattoo; a skull, open-mouthed, a snake coming from the dark gaping orifice in its face and curving around. It stirred something in her memory, something that she had read before, maybe… The tip of her forefinger began to follow the line of the snake's body, until Lucius snapped his arm back as though he had been shocked. Immediately he was tense, eyes open, the arm at Miss Black's back no longer moving.

"It's a brand," Miss Black murmured, voice slightly slurred and shaky, quiet.

Lucius thought to hide it again, but decided it would be pointless. The damage had been done. She clearly recognised it. _Damned Daily Prophet._ "Yes," he hissed, bringing his arm back so she could see it. He allowed her to now trace the body of the snake with her forefinger. There was a long pause. "I'd appreciate if you-"

"Professor," Miss Black cut in, though still softly, "surely you have realised by now that I can keep a secret."

Another pause. Lucius smirked very slightly, and relaxed again. "Yes," he repeated quietly, his hand again brushing her back under the water. Her small, delicate fingers had left the brand now, lackadaisically following a prominent vein down his arm, over his wrist, across the palm of his hand. He twitched and had to stifle a smile at the tickling of her nail across his sensitive palm. She eventually came to rest at his ring finger, playing along the base where a wedding band should reside.

"Why aren't you married, Sir?" Miss Black murmured, as Lucius guessed she would.

Relaxing back into his after-glow, Lucius shrugged offhandedly. "I suppose I never met the right woman."

Miss Black laughed softly. "Surely you've had many relationships," she offered reasonably. He felt her head shift, her hair ticking his neck, as she looked up at him, though he did not look down.

"Not really. More…Casual flings, perhaps." He shrugged again. "Nothing that really meant anything." Maybe if Lucius had not been so calm he would have known that he said something very wrong. Even from the stiffening of Miss Black on his lap he did not realise such. To hammer the final nail into his hand, to be left hung up to die, he added, "Nothing overly special."

There was a frosty silence. "Is that so?" Miss Black muttered coolly to break it, "And is that all I am then? Nothing _overly special_? Just a _casual fling_?" Her voice was dripping in sarcasm.

His eyes opened. For a moment Lucius looked bewildered. "What?" he choked in disbelief, "No, I-"

Miss Black, however, was already rising from his lap, pulling herself up out of the bath onto the bathroom floor. She flowingly rose, with irritation as elegant as a very haughty mermaid, and picked her wand out of her shorts. A quick, elaborate flick, and she was free of the droplets which set her skin alight, the fire of the candles reflected and dancing within them now gone. Without looking back at the still very confused Lucius, Miss Black pulled up her shorts, buttoned and zipped them, and slipped on her shirt. She then, pocketing her wand, turned on heel with a very curt, "Goodnight, Professor," and stormed towards the door before Lucius could even figure out what he'd said wrong.

As Miss Black declared the password, wrenched the bathroom door open and slammed it shut behind herself, Lucius muttered to himself in a very quiet inner voice, as though afraid she might hear and hex him to oblivion, _Why am I not married? You answered your own question there._

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><p>Far above both Lucius and Narcissa, somewhere completely foreign to them both, in the castle, where they would never want to even set foot for fear of being touched by a Mudblood or blood traitor of some sort, four boys were still awake despite the hour. The vivacious fire, crimson, had long since gone out, and their faces were lit by a number of candles hovering around them, each boasting a similar dancing flame of ruby and amber and gold. They were cramped on chintz pouffes around a tiny table, staring down in awe at their latest creation – what appeared to be little more than a large piece of parchment to the untrained eye, but it was much, much more.<p>

"Look, look, Dumbledore's pacing his study again!" exclaimed one of the boys, bespectacled and black of hair, untidy enough to make Narcissa sneer for England, pointing wildly at the parchment.

Another of the boys, with longer and even darker hair, though it was in tidy waves, pointed to another place on it. "Look, Snivellus is still in the Slytherin common room. I bet he's fallen asleep with his nose still in some book."

"Padfoot," the boy opposite the last one to speak chastised, though there was a note of cordial amusement in his voice, "please refrain from that while there is no one to impress.

The dark, wavy-haired male gave the contemplative face a playful smirk, twisting one side of his mouth, before returning to the parchment. "Whatever you say, Moony."

All attention was returned to the parchment, until the boy with the overly dishevelled hair pointed out, pushing his glasses further up his nose to get a better view as he scanned the unfolded pages speedily, "Douchius isn't in his room." The rest of the boys chortled at the name, the one who had not yet spoken – the smallest of the group, with tiny eyes, mousey- brown scraggly hair and an overly twitchy disposition – laughing a nervous little titter only when the rest had begun guffawing, and was the last to finish.

They all scanned the paper in search until; "Ah, there he is," said the boy previously referred to as Moony rather thoughtfully, pressing a finger with a rather long nail against the page. "In the teacher's bathroom on the ground floor." They all crowded in to see for themselves. Ah, yes, right there, the name in that miniscule writing was most certainly L. Malfoy ("Well spotted!"). But who was that other name, the one striding rather purposefully towards the door of the room?

"N. Black?" Moony uttered softly, his gaze immediately looking up to the wavy-haired boy known as Padfoot. He looked exceptionally pale, even more so than normal.

"No, no, it can't be," he muttered, but it was there, clear as day, her little name coming out of the teacher's bathroom and moving down towards the Slytherin common room. He looked around at all the boys in turn, his wide eyes meeting theirs – behind glasses, meditative and wide and watery respectively.

A very pregnant pause. "The map never lies," murmured Moony.

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><p><strong>This, to me, is the epitome of Lucissa: he gets annoyed at her, sex; she gets annoyed at him, cheque book comes out.<strong>

**I must admit a little confidence came back to me in writing this, and I've attempted to control my parenthesis more (thanks to WanderingWordsmith for pointing this out in his review; also I suppose a little thanks to him for the name Douchius, but he requested I put it in somewhere anyway, and that I have done. Be happy now) but to know you're enjoying this story would be lovely, readers.**

**Many thanks, again, for reading thus far.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Thank you, everyone who reviewed my last chapter. You really helped me get some amount of confidence back. **

**I had quite a lot of fun with this chapter, so much so that I really could not stop typing, though I'm afraid a lot of utter nonsense came out of it. I shall hope not, but this chapter is largely analeptic, and all Lucius. I had planned this chapter to have more things going on in it, but it didn't turn out so, so I have decided to split it between two. I shall also apologise for the slow update, for which my excuse is that I have been struck by a sudden bout of man-flu (a mild cold which I refuse to stop complaining about).**

**But without further ado, I hope you enjoy. c:**

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><p>It was a rare occurrence for Lucius Malfoy to sleep soundly. Apart from when he was so drunk that his slumber was near-comatose, or when he had not slept for so long that he saw only black since, seemingly, his mind did not have the energy to produce any images to entertain him while he drowsed, he often slept fitfully. Ever since he could remember his sleep was restless, punctuated by moments of consciousness which could span to hours, often twisting and turning so much while he was unconscious that he would end up curled in some sort of foetal position, his covers wrapped around him tightly like a constricting womb. Someone tried to mention it in his school days, a fellow occupant of his dormitory, but he had threatened to curse them to oblivion. They soon kept quiet.<p>

The truth was, Lucius was very conscious about his sleeping habits, and was quite embarrassed to think of them. To wake up in the morning often covered in a thin film of sweat, the sheets wrapped around his legs and restricting any form of movement, had bothered him greatly in school, and he made sure his drapes were always firmly closed before he would fall into slumber. Now, in his adulthood, he still compulsively drew the curtains around his four-poster every night, and would still wake with his body being held by the sheets. He could never decide if they seemed to be embracing him warmly, like the protective arms of a mother, or attempting to asphyxiate him in their relentless silky hold. Either way, he wished it wouldn't happen.

Despite him having restless sleep for so long, however, he could never remember his dreams. Ever. No matter how hard he tried to recall them in the morning, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes as though by keeping darkness the dream would be tricked and linger at the front of his mind for belief that he was still sleeping, he could not. If he could remember, he would know that, more often than not, he had the same dream.

In his current state of relaxation as he lowered himself into bed, skin revitalised from his recent and rather eventful bath, Lucius drew the drapes around his bed, lowered himself down under the sheets, placed his hands behind his head and let out a soft and utterly content exhalation. In his experience with women, in which he had quite a lot, Miss Black would soon come around, therefore he was not worried. Never had a woman been able to be angry at him for a prolonged amount of time. Even when he asked them to sleep in a different room at night, for fear that he may experience his usual restlessness, forcing them if they refused from his bed into another, smaller bedroom of his manor, they would soon be most pleased with him again by mid-morning. As it was, he was rather spent and clean and sleepy, therefore when he retired to bed he soon slipped into slumber, the glass of crimson wine left untouched on his bedside table.

* * *

><p>When he returned to the dream, since it always began in the same way, it was immediately familiar, like a memory he had revisited in his Pensieve time after time. It had evolved over the years, but it was always vivid. So very lifelike, not at all like a dream.<p>

In his dream, Lucius always saw himself. Dream-Lucius always resembled the Sleeping-Lucius, as he was the night of the dream – when he dreamt as a teenager, Dream-Lucius was a teenager, while on this night his dream involved him as he was, in his adulthood. It began in a rose garden, always, a huge one at that. The sky, by an outsider, could be considered strange, a soft red with lines of pink and gold, cloudless. An open expanse of nothingness. But to Lucius it was so familiar it was more normal than the sky of reality. The roses, in stark contrast beneath the sky, were bright white, glowing with a golden hue. Each was as beautiful as the last, all in full bloom, the size of his fist.

It was through this garden that Dream-Lucius paced, sticking to a cobble-stoned path. His strides were controlled, but not by Lucius, for he could not change the dream, merely watch, spectating; he observed Dream-Lucius as an outsider, from the sidelines, knowing what was going to happen but being helpless to stop it. Merely an entity without a body, a voice, a parasite of Dream-Lucius' who soldiered down the path, lined on either side by roses. The roses soon began to get higher and more convoluted, a tortuous labyrinth of petals and stems and thorns. They themselves formed walls, walls of a maze in which Dream-Lucuis entered, and, unable to still the feet of the apparition, Lucius followed.

Though Lucius knew the exact route by now, Dream-Lucius did not seem to. He looked left and right at a fork in the maze of roses, taking the far left path. The cobble stones were more prominent here through Dream-Lucius' shined shoes, and Lucius was so sure he could feel them in his feet, though he knew he had none.

They travelled the path long until they came out into a colossal clearing. The cobbles abruptly stopped, to be replaced by thick, luscious grass, the roses encircling the clearing and creating a great number of other openings to boast other paths, going this way and that, twisting and turning. In the middle of the clearing was the lake which was supposed to be situated in the Hogwarts grounds and, floating on the water, a fisherman. He looked like a Muggle, for the man was rowing by hand with the oars upon the sides of the little wooden rowboat. His face was lined and his beard long and straggly, dark grey but flecked with white, a green cap upon his head. He was glad in a yellow Macintosh and had a pipe clenched firmly between his teeth. He was humming – no, singing – lowly under his breath, too quietly for Lucius to hear the words. The fisherman stopped in the middle of the lake and Lucius knew (didn't know how he knew, just _knew_) that he was attempting to catch the giant squid with that little Muggle fishing rod. Lucius could hear the mermaids singing from beneath the surface, singing with the fisherman, cantillating a soft, mournful and unearthly tune from beneath the surface. They were rising upwards, dark shapes coming closer and closer towards the little boat, the warning of an impending doom. However, Dream-Lucius had turned and was pacing unconcernedly down another path, away from Lucius, and he found himself having to follow. He heard the eerie serenade of the psirens from behind him, rising into a crescendo, and the scream of the fisherman as the climax somewhere far, far away. Then silence.

In his bed, Sleeping-Lucius shivered and turned over, gripping the sheets.

The path turned off onto another, on Lucius' right, and then another to the right, and then to the left, the middle, right, left, middle, second from the right, middle, left. He knew the way with precision and could determine which way Dream-Lucius would go before he did. Another left and down this path Dream-Lucius carried on, the roses becoming thicker on either side now, both sides curving upwards to create a graceful arch which blocked out the sky. They were walking – or just floating along as a disembodied presence – in silence for what felt like many hours. There didn't seem to be an end, and the rose bushes were becoming thicker, blocking out all light. Dream-Lucius began to pick up his pace, a faster stride, before breaking into a slow run when the end was not coming into sight. He was trapped, for either way the light at the end was a mere pinprick and no matter which way he ran it did not get any nearer. Dream-Lucius was panicked, Lucius could see on his terror-stricken face, grey eyes alight with hysteria (for even though the archway caused pitch darkness, Lucius could still see all). Dream-Lucius began sprinting downwards, towards the end of the path, arms and legs pumping wildly. He always moved as easily as he did when he was a teenager, in these dreams, and seemingly did not breathe at all; there was no laboured panting from Dream-Lucius, no complaint at the bones and muscles which were not what they once were protesting, no sound at all, in fact.

Lucius always knew when the end of the path is near, for there was a coffin on the floor. It was here that Dream-Lucius stopped, looked down at it, though any mortal eyes would never distinguish the dark ebony from the gloom of the passageway. Sometimes, Dream-Lucius opened the coffin to reveal the corpse inside-

Sleeping-Lucius turned over again with a soft groan, fisting his sheets and squirming his legs, as though in a running motion.

- but sometimes did not. Luckily for Lucius, that night was one of the latter times, and Dream-Lucius continued running down the archway.

What seemed like hours later, still, Dream-Lucius emerged from the extensive cobble-stoned passage into the light of the red sky, which had turned a bright crimson in his absence. This part of the dream was still fairly new to Lucius, since it had only been included for the past two years or so, as it used to end abruptly at the coffin. The roses were still present everywhere, always glowing that bright white which stung Dream-Lucius' eyes after being in the darkness. He shielded his gaze as he approached the centre of this clearing – the very centre of the maze, Lucius knew.

Here, standing proud and tall, was another rose bush, thick with flowers. Again, they were white with that golden hue, and again, the blossoms were huge. Beautiful. But not perfect. By far not perfect.

Dream-Lucius approached cautiously, looking around as though for some unknown enemy, some obstacle which may strike him at any moment. There was none, and he reached the rose bush without problem. Pushing his hair back with one hand, the apparition reached out with the other, beginning to pull the petals from one rose. He could make it shapelier, he knew he could. With his deft fingers he could make the pale, delicate creation into a thing of pure, unadulterated beauty. Or so Dream-Lucius thought. From behind him, screaming without a voice, Lucius watched, knowing what was about to happen and begging him to stop, but being powerless to do anything more.

Dream-Lucius peeled more petals from the rose, examined it, and peeled more again. They drifted to the ground, to the cobbles beneath his feet, and lay with nought in their future but imminent death. To dry and shrivel beneath the scarlet sky, use their youthful glow and vigour and be killed by the hands of such a ruthless man. He kept tugging the petals, but was never happy. Never. It was just not perfect enough. He began to get more frenzied, more erratic, blaming the flower for being so flawed with every layer he tore from the blossom. Eventually he was left just with a tiny spherical object in the palm of his hand. With the very heart of the rose, a diminutive thing, like a crystal ball for a tiny doll. It was pounding in his fingers, Lucius could feel it, but it was made of a shiny, clear and cold substance. Glass.

When Dream-Lucius dropped the little heart it smashed into a thousand miniscule pieces, shining dully under the bright red sky. Unfettered, he moved onto the next rose, while, in reality, Sleeping-Lucius writhed and fought with his covers.

Dream-Lucius steadily carried on pulling apart each rose in strive for perfection, letting the petals and leaves flutter to the ground, allowing the frail hearts to smash when he reached the core of the blossoms. He soon began getting more frantic, hectic, ripping the roses apart in an attempt to find perfection within them. He pulled at the stems in order to prune them, see if it would help, but the thorns calloused his hands as he ripped the stems away from the overgrown rose bush. They punctured his fingers and palms, blood staining his hands and the petals as Dream-Lucius continued tearing the roses apart, breaking their hearts now covered in his blood.

The sky began to get darker, turning a deep grey, above him with each rose he devastated. The petals scattered on the cobbled path, instead of shrivelling and dying, became a deep crimson, as though the sky's colour was falling down into them. The rose bush was thinning, such was Dream-Lucius' relentless annihilation, and a dark shape contained beneath the bush was becoming slowly more evident; black, hunched, moving. Blood was dripping to the ground from Dream-Lucius' hands as he gripped the thorns hard to tug them away from the bush, trying desperately to make it perfect. His grey-sky eyes were panicked, filled with terror-stricken tears.

He continued until nothing was left. Only a few fragile stems winding around the writhing dark shape which was hidden in the centre of the once flourishing rose bush. Dream-Lucius fell to his knees, scarlet rose petals scattered around him, staring up at the shape. Above him the sky was turning steadily pitch dark, the petals glowing crimson, so much so that the glow rose up, higher and higher – no, not glow, flames. The petals had combusted into flame, the tiny glass fragments reflecting the flickering light. Around him, everywhere, the walls of the maze ignited into blaze, furious fires created seemingly from nowhere to consume the roses. Except they did not die, only burned, seemingly endlessly, to block any chance of Dream-Lucius' escape. Lucius watched as his apparition's clothes caught fire from kneeling on the igniting petals, skin blistering - and _melting_ – as the fire crawled up the material of its new fuel.

Sleeping-Lucius let out a soft whine which would never be heard in the daytime and twisted around in his sheets, creating a tight foetal position as though for protection, a thin film of sweat plastering his hair to his forehead.

Dream-Lucius ignored the encroaching flames which ate at his skin like it was wax, however, looking up with a blank gaze to the thing which had been hidden from the world, now rising from the confines of its thorny prison to slowly straighten, take in a great, shuddering breath and turn its gaze upon Lucius, not Dream-Lucius, but the eyes through which Lucius had been watching the entire dream – deathly pale, sallow, eyes crimson and mouth wide, screaming or laughing, though Lucius could not hear anything for his ears were filled with a rushing sound, surrounded by the walls of fire which consumed him as the figure came closer, raised an arm, a wand, pointed, aimed, _spoke_.

Lucius awoke with a jolt. The jolt one gets from missing a stair in the dark, only it echoed around his whole body. His bones braced themselves to collide with something to stop his fall that would never come. He was trembling, hard. A bead of sweat trailed over his forehead and it took him a while to gather the courage, or indeed ability to move, to brush it away. His arms felt numb, as though they were no longer connected to his body. The darkness was complete around him, due to the drapes, and it took him at least a minute to calm his breathing enough to think rationally, get the courage to reach out and tear the curtains from around his four-poster.

Moonlight streamed onto the bed when he finally roughly retracted the drapes. Though it felt he had been asleep for an age, he guessed it must have been two hours at most – Lucius would guess the time at 3am. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and tried to recall what he was dreaming of. Anything. Anything at all. He had the feeling that he had been dreaming of Miss Black, but had no evidence to support that. Miss Black, in her pale delicacy…

Black. Black, the hooded, shrouded figure which rose up among the flames. The man – was it a man? – who had looked upon Lucius' very soul with its darkened eyes, skin pallid and gaunt in a rather thanatoid manner. Nose flattened, snake-like, raising a wand in one pale hand to-

Lucius leapt out of bed, not bothering to don any clothes. He immediately unsheathed his wand, placed the tip to his temple and retracted a thin string of his conscious thoughts, hurriedly containing it in a phial before he had chance to lose it. Finally, _finally, _something he remembered of the dreams which haunted his sleep. Something solid – or not, more liquid and gaseous – to cling on to. He stared at the silvery-blue strand in the phial and a small smile twisted the side of his lips, though his brow furrowed.  
>Who was that figure? The man…thing? He had looked familiar, but Lucius could not for the life of him work out why. Sighing, and rubbing his eyes now, he paced over to the bedside table and placed the phial down on its point, where it remained upright without support. He then, picking up his abandoned wine with his free right hand, used a wordless incantation of <em>accio<em>, pointing his wand at the overly huge wardrobe in the far corner of the room which took its habitation beside the window. With a coughing sound from the wardrobe, an emerald green dressing gown of finest silk with the initials L.M. embroidered in overly elaborate silver stitching on the breast pocket flew out of the wardrobe door and came to a stop directly in front of him. The wardrobe coughed again, the matching belt being cast out onto the floor with a dull heave from the wood, before its door closed and it stood perfectly still. Lucius shrugged the dressing gown on and, again, used a wordless incantation to make the belt rise and thread itself through the loops on the midriff of the gown, tying itself loosely.

He absently smelt the wine in his glass as he sheathed his wand in his cane, moving over to the armchair in front of the considering smaller but still heartily chuckling fire. He lifted his feet up onto the pouffe, reclining back into the warm leather gratefully. He brought the glass to his lips and tipped it up, allowing the familiar crimson liquid to trickle down his throat and coax his thudding heart and alert senses into believing that all was well.

Lucius thought hard about what he remembered from his dream. His gaze lingered on the fire as he did so, wine inattentively being consumed while he was lost in reflection.

The face. He knew how it seemed familiar. As it is with dreams, the face bore no real resemblance to the man whom he was thinking of yet he just knew that if he stripped the man in his dream of its inhumanity, give it human eyes and a human nose and a mouth which was not so malevolent and prone to form words of terrorization, it would resemble the Dark Lord. Or, as he had introduced himself all those years ago, Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Lucius sighed. He had revisited the memory so many times in his Pensieve, hidden in his office, that it was not difficult to reminisce his first meeting with Tom Riddle all those years ago. Over six, now. July, 1966, it had been. He laughed humourlessly, feeling remarkably old, and rubbed his eyes before draining his glass. Having nothing better to do, he allowed himself the indulgence of remembrance.

* * *

><p>Lucius was not a regular visitor of Hogsmeade at the best of times, but the back alleys <em>did <em>boast services when the lights went out and the children had gone to bed which rivalled even those of Sensue Alley, in between Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley if one knew the right formation of bricks to tap one's wand against. There was a small establishment, not far from the then newly-opened Madam Sweet's, which had been there for many a year. In the day a powerful Disillusionment Charm was in place to shield the place from public view, should a student from Hogwarts unwittingly wander down the back alleys and find the place. However, when the sun went down, the establishment would light up like a beacon, attracting young bachelors, noble gentlemen and wayward husbands like a moth to flame. It was known as Sir Spellbound's (luckily over the years owners of these establishments got more original in their naming of them) and was a deep red on the outside, which Lucius had found rather annoying every time he approached. It was, however, the only club of this type he had visited – quaint, cosy and quiet, it had been nice to escape the hustle and bustle of The Leaky Cauldron, retire for a nice glass of Bourbon firewhiskey and undo his shirt cuffs, becoming rather enthralled by the dancers by the end of the night.

It had been on one of these nights that Lucius had visited the lavish establishment, spending quite a lot of his riches inside, and had strolled out rather more inebriated and content than he had been when he walked in. He had been adorned in a thick black cloak with a hood, despite the humidity of the year, to escape too much notice. His hands were clad in black gloves of leather, though he was still easily recognisable; how many people had strands of platinum-blond hair, not as long as was presently but still long enough to give him away, shining in the moonlight and a snake-head gripped between their fingers which was fused to their wand? He had been leaning heavily on his cane to stay upright as he meandered through the back alleys of Hogsmeade, being instructed by the girls who lingered around the dark streets like psirens to lure unsuspecting men inside to "Come back soon, Sir Malfoy."

Lucius had pulled his hood forward when he stepped out of the back alleys and onto the main street of Hogsmeade. It was still early, for him at least, and to retire to his estate had not seemed like the best idea. No, instead, another quiet drink had seemed a much better plan. He had doubted he could apparate successfully all the way to Diagon Alley in his current state without something going wrong, so The Leaky Cauldron was fairly out of the question. But The Hog's Head was just up the road. It would be quiet and he would be undisturbed. Hm.

Again, pulling his hood firmly forward to douse his face in shadow, Lucius had turned and begun to stroll up the main street towards The Hog's Head, a place he usually gave a wide berth at all times but which that night seemed very important that he go there. The Three Broomsticks, as he walked past, was inevitably shut, being a more respected pub and therefore did not tolerate the late-night vermin which made residence at its filthy counterpart. Being July, the air was stuffy and humid, though it was remarkably fresh to Lucius' nostrils compared to the musty odour of overflowing bins which haunted the back alleys of the small town. His hair under his hood had been tied back off his forehead which he was fairly grateful for, though it still gave little relief from the heat.

_No, a nice drink will do that_, Lucius had thought at he pushed the door of the manky little pub open, a little bell above his head tinkling dully as he did so. The door had creaked as he opened it but no one looked around at his entrance, too busy staring into the dregs of their drinks or talking in hushed whispers with hooded counterparts. He had stepped inside gingerly, for the floor of the pub was merely uneven dirt, rather than any sort of floor. As the door closed behind him the one dingy room of the pub had plunged back into near-darkness, only a fraction of moonlight filtering through the grime on the windows and stubs of candles on the tables around the room very nearly having gone out for lack of fuel.

There was one man at the bar which Lucius had approached, squat and bandy-legged, his near-bald ginger head glinting in the dull light of the pub. A cloud of acrid-smelling smoke swamped him and the bar in his direct vicinity, so Lucius had sat precariously on one of the stools away from said man. He was rambling animatedly to the barman, playing with a shot of firewhiskey by flinging it about as he made overly dramatic arm movements as though to make his points while talking, rather than drinking it. The barman had been very quick to leave the man to stare at Lucius gruffly, waiting for what he wanted, as though grateful to have a reason to leave the man's company.

"A double Bourbon firewhiskey. Your finest," Lucius had responded to the barman's unanswered question, ignoring the foul, smoking man as he had turned a toothless smile upon Lucius.

"A man 'oo can hold 'is drink. I like that," he had declared, raising his shot and finally draining it in one as though it would impress Lucius. Of course he had stayed quiet, completely ignoring the man, and remained so when the barman had placed a grimy glass of firewhiskey on the bar in front of him. He hadn't bothered to inspect the glass, for he knew that if he did he would most certainly not want to drink from it, and drank the double firewhiskey in one. He could tell it was slightly diluted, but it still burned as it coursed down his throat, so he really couldn't care less.

Lucius had been quite content, after he'd ordered a second drink, to look idly about the room of the pub. Eyes having adjusted to the dull light, he could make out, in the far corner, a huge and broad man with a tangle of frizzy black hair (who he would soon come to know as Rubeus or, in the privacy of his own thoughts, that filthy half-breed) talking to a tiny, cloaked figure in hushed tones. On the next table another cloaked figure drank alone, sipping a bright-green drink which resembled absinthe but was shuddering about in the owner's fingers, and on the next, closest to the door, another two black figures had been whispering quietly, often slamming their fists on the table. The next was empty and at the final one, in the corner opposite to the half-breed, sat a man, alone, the only person other than the man at the bar who was not hooded and drenched in shadow. He was leaning towards the candle in the centre of the table, the light dancing over his sallow skin and defined features, making him appear especially ashen. He had been staring intently at the two hooded figures who appeared to be having a heated discussion unblinkingly. Lucius could see that the light of the candle was not reflected in his eyes, and suspected that the man had not blinked in so long that all the moisture had been consumed by the heat of the flame.

"So, what I'm sayin', Abby, I'm sayin' tha'," the man at the bar continued in an endless drone to the barman, who was 'cleaning' a filthy glass with a just as filthy cloth. Lucius had sneered, but continued to drink from his own glass anyway. "Tha' yer can't call a man guilty until 'e's proven… Wassat word I'm lookin' fer?" The man had furrowed his brow, apparently thinking hard, before puffing a huge plume of smoke from his cheeks in triumph. "Ah! Innocent!"

The barman rolled his eyes. There was a screeching sound nearby as one of the two hooded figures at the table had pushed back their chair and rose. The figure had soundlessly swept across the room, behind Lucius, and exited the pub through the back door. Almost immediately after, the lone man without a cloak in the corner of the room rose and followed them out of the door. Lucius had not given this much thought, and apparently neither had anyone else, for no one so much as looked up. Even the other hooded figure sat, merely staring at the table.

"So, anyway, Abby, about them goats of yers," the man drawled, as the barman poured him another shot, "'ow much would you sell 'em fer?"

"Excuse me," Lucius interrupted loftily to the barman, who again had looked somewhat relieved, "but do you have a bathroom anywhere?" He had not relieved himself since he had been in the gentlemen's club, and with quite a lot of alcohol between then and his third drink in The Hog's Head he was willing to hazard the state of any bathroom that the dingy little inn may have. The barman had twitched his head towards the back door and motioned his thumb agitatedly over his shoulder, implying that they were outside.

Lucius had drained his glass, rather than leave it at the bar, picked up his cane and made his way out of the back door. Again, it creaked loudly, but no one paid it any regard.

The back of The Hog's head was little better than the interior. There was a rickety little fence around the back of the pub, a small, squat wooden building which Lucius suspected to be a makeshift toilet at the opposite end. Patches of grass sprouted up around the uneven dirt, mostly weeds flourishing here and there. Beyond the fence, to his left, Lucius had been able to see the back of Dervish and Banges, an assortment of magical instruments which were too faulty to be fixed piled high (he could hear an old gramophone choking out pieces of vinyl from its horn) while around the rest of the fence was a number of thin trees which were bent into impossible angles by the wind as they grew. The sky was cloudless and inky black, dotted with stars and dominated by the almost-full moon which beamed down in an attempt to infiltrate the gloomy little inn. Within the fence was another, smaller fenced-off area like a little paddock, around which a number of goats were ambling around, bleating pitifully. They appeared spooked, for Lucius had guessed that goats were not usually insomniacs and for them to be running around so quickly so late at night struck him as odd.

"State your name," a voice from behind Lucius' back had murmured silkily. He felt the tip of a wand pressing into his back, at the point directly where his heart was, and a hand grip the hood of his cloak, pulling it back. He had drawn in a sharp breath and tensed, eyes widening slightly and panic punching him in the stomach, though he remained calm.

"Malfoy," he had replied just as quietly as the as of yet nameless man behind him. "Lucius Malfoy. And you are?"

The man, however, ignored his question. "Malfoy? From the noble and Pureblooded family of?"

Lucius bit back a sharp retort, for he knew when he was not best off in a situation and, in that situation, he had not been best off. "Yes."

There had been a short pause, filled with silence except for the internal gramophone down the road, until the man removed his wand from Lucius' back. He moved around Lucius, tentatively, as though afraid he may strike. When he came face-to-face in front of the blond, his wand had still been raised at Lucius' chest. Lucius, however, was quite busy looking around for the other man who had exited the pub first. He was nowhere to be seen.

"I'm guessing you didn't transfigure him into a goat," Lucius said coolly, more to himself than to the man, who laughed hollowly, immediately understanding what he was talking about.

"No, I did not."

There was another pause. Lucius turned his attention to the man and noticed, upon the third finger holding his wand, a gold ring with a black stone glinting in the moonlight. "Did you do _anything_ to him?"

The man's response had been immediate. "What business is that of yours?"

"It is really none," Lucius agreed, raising the palm of his hand not clutching his wand to the man as though in a sign of acknowledgement, "however I am merely curious."

"Curiosity killed the cat."

"I am not a fan of Muggle idioms."

The man scowled. Lucius guessed he had touched a nerve. "What would you do if I did tell you?"

"Ask you why you did it."

"And then?"

"What more is there to do?"

The man didn't lower his wand from Lucius' chest, but flicked his head back, motioning to the trees. "He's back there."

Had Lucius been more sober, and presently he thought that would have been the best action to do at the time, he may have acted on his gut feeling to scarper right then and there. However, with morals and all thoughts in general clouded by alcohol, Lucius remained. He nodded once. "You killed him." It wasn't a question, nor was there any doubt in his mind.

"Yes."

Lucius had nodded again. "Why?"

The man paused. "You're not going to tell anyone?"

"Why should I?" Lucius shrugged coldly, "I did not know the person, nor will the barman or anyone else in there give a doxie dropping."

The man slowly lowered his wand, staring hard at Lucius. Now his arm was no longer in front of his face, and he was not illuminated by merely a single candle, Lucius could see the man more clearly. The man was around a head shorter than Lucius, and had a very pale, gaunt face, cheeks hollow and eyes dark. They looked almost black compared to the pale skin which practically shone in the moonlight. His hair was brown but, despite his youthful looks, was thinning and he was wearing only robes which, to Lucius, remarkably resembled school robes. As the man stared up into his steely eyes, Lucius felt his heart thudding, every instinct telling him to flee there and then. He had kept his ground, however.

"I used the Killing Curse," the man admitted softly, with no hint of remorse. Almost smugness, "and transfigured him into a bone."

There had been only a short pause. "How clever," Lucius replied, inclining his head in acknowledgement, "and why did you do it?"

"He was a Mudblood. He didn't deserve life." The statement was simple. Lucius couldn't say he disagreed. He was about to open his mouth to speak when the door creaked open behind him and the man's face suddenly contorted into one of rage. He raised his wand faster than Lucius could monitor and pointed it at him. "_Avada kedavra_!" the man hissed. There was a flash of light and Lucius braced himself for a death which, if it was going to come, would not have allowed him time to brace himself.

Lucius heard the sound of something heavy fall to the ground behind him. The back door of the pub creaked closed again. When he was fairly certain he was still alive, Lucius stepped forwards and opened his eyes, turning to look down at where he was standing only moments before.

There was a bundle of rags on the floor. No..._No, not a bundle of rags…The shape of a person…In a cloak._

"The woman that was with the Mudblood," the man explained offhandedly. Lucius twisted his head back around to face the man, to find that his wand had been lowered again and his face was perfectly calm, a small smile tugging at his lips. He was looking at Lucius in a politely interested manner. "I couldn't risk letting her live. I do apologise for giving you a fright, but she was standing directly behind you. I knew I wouldn't miss."

It was only then that Lucius had noticed how hard he was breathing. He tried to control his heart rate, tried not to appear so scared. How _undignified!_ He watched as the man, mildly, transfigured the woman into a single bone and levitated her over to the trees beyond the fence. Another wordless spell and there was a pulse of magic, and the bone flew far into the thin forest. He slid his wand back into his robes, tilted his head as though curiously at Lucius and inquired, "May I buy you a drink?"

There was a long pause. Lucius stared, wide-eyed at the man, while he gazes back politely as though all he had done was stopped Lucius in the street and asked what time it was. Lucius slowly nodded. "Yes, you may."

The man smiled, though Lucius could tell it was incredibly forced, and began to usher him back into the pub. Lucius was about to protest, for he still needed the toilet, but decided against it. He doubted that the little wooden shack had hand-washing facilities, and to sit down with a good stiff drink seemed a very good idea. He pulled his hood back up.

The barman raised an eyebrow as Lucius entered the establishment with the other man's hand pressed into his back, lowering him into a seat at the table at which the man had sat earlier. The brunette then left Lucius to order two large and double firewhiskies, thanking the barman and placing one in front of Lucius when the owner had begrudgingly poured the two desired drinks.

Lucius had been only vaguely aware of the drink set in front of him, and also of the smoking man's ramblings behind him. It sounded like a fly buzzing in the background, unimportant but still annoyingly there. When he did come to his senses and found a drink in front of him, however, he had taken the glass and very quickly drained it.

The man sat opposite Lucius, smiling slightly at him and playing with the filthy glass.

"So, who are you?" Lucius inquired as soon as he had put the glass back down. He was rather desperate to start some sort of conversation, so not to look around at the empty table where two people once sat, Mudblood or none.

"Oh, do forgive my poor manners. I _did _forget to introduce myself, didn't I?" the man lilted blithely but very quietly, flicking a spot of dirt from his glass, "My name is Tom Marvolo Riddle. I am pleased to meet you, Lucius Malfoy."

Lucius could not say the same, for if he did he suspected it would be a lie.

"I only wish," Tom continued, in hushed tones, "that we may have met under more…pleasant circumstances. I have heard much of your family, and I am afraid I may have made the wrong impression. But…weeds must be pruned from a bed of roses whenever they are found. Surely you agree?"

Lucius nodded absently. His eyes searched Tom's face again, since then his heart rate had slowed somewhat under the influence of his latest glass of liquid. It seemed strange, as though somewhat inhuman. His eyes were _too _dark, and his skin _too _pale. His lips were too thin and his nose almost flattened. It made Lucius wonder if he had been hit in the face by a bludger, but he decided against the impulse to ask. He noticed a thin chain around Tom's neck, glinting in the firelight, and motioned to it. "What is that?"

Tom's face considerably had lightened up, as though he was hoping Lucius would ask. If anything, it made Tom look a whole lot more intimidating. The smile which forced his lips upwards did not reach the darkness of his eyes, and so he looked positively psychotic. He reached below the neck of his robes, pulling out the pendent on the thin gold chain and holding it over the tiny stub of a candle in the middle of their table. Lucius found himself leaning in. "The locket of my ancestor," Tom had declared in a hushed whisper. Lucius was rather familiar with the tone which accompanied boasting, and knew that Tom was doing it right then. "Salazar Slytherin."

Indeed, the locket did look genuine, golden and embellished with a large green S. It glinted in the firelight. In his left hand, his wand hand, Lucius gripped the snake's head of his cane which was laid protectively across his lap. His right he had lifted, reaching out to touch the locket with his leather-clad forefinger. Tom did not pull back or protest, and Lucius touched the face of the locket, only to recoil immediately as though he had been stung. His whole body tensed, and he had to bite his lip to stop himself making an audible shout. He could hear screaming, a man's screaming, so loud that he was sure it was real, though he suspected it was in his head when no one else in the room even faltered in their conversation. As soon as he pulled his finger away the scream began to fade, like a wave pulling away from a cliff after ramming ceaselessly into it.

Tom took the locket away from the flame and tucked it possessively back under his robes. "Tell me, Lucuis – may I call you Lucius? – do you believe in keeping pure blood untainted?" The blonde had nodded weakly. "Do you, like me, believe that Mudbloods and the like should not be allowed to exist, let alone infiltrate our schools like the vermin they are?" Tom leant in closer. Lucius nodded and did likewise. "Do you believe blood traitors should be _eradicated_?" Tom's voice had become a hiss by then. Again, Lucius nodded. "Perhaps then, Lucius, you would like to…join me."

Lucius tried to read Tom's face, but found only a pallid mask. Lips straight, eyes conveying no emotion. "Jo-" Lucius began, before stopping and lowering his voice to a whisper like the other man's, his being somewhat slurred. "Join you how?"

Still, Tom's expression portrayed no feeling whatsoever. He had cast a glance over Lucius' shoulder to check that the barman was still conversing with the man at the bar, and continued in a hushed murmur. "I, Lucius, believe in the power of Pureblood. I believe that the magic flowing in a wizard's veins should be untainted and undiluted by non-magical worthlessness. I believe that it all should _now _be stopped, now before it gets out of hand, and before Mudbloods take over our schools, which is inevitable with Muggle-lovers like _Dumbledore_ running them. The Muggle dregs of the Wizarding world need to be controlled – _annihilated -_ at the source and washed away now, leaving only the purest of blood to reign supreme.

"It is therefore that I am making it my business to rid the world of this scum. Be it Muggle, Mudblood, squib, blood traitor, half-breeds. All of them, gone. But it is…difficult, to do it alone." He stared hard into Lucius' eyes. "I need powerful wizards on my side. Followers, if you will. To rid the world of this devastation to Wizarding name which is the contamination of our blood purity. I have some. I have been to Albania. I have met giants who wish to assist me, infuriated at being forced into captivity by the likes of Dumbledore and given hope by my promises to free them. I have powerful wizards on my side who wish for a…greater slice of the pie, if you will. For, not only will you rid the world of its imminent downfall but, if you join me, the rewards will be great." Tom had held out his wand hand to Lucius and, soundlessly and wandlessly, conjured what appeared to be a ball of light in the palm of his hand. Since the conversations around them still did not falter, Lucius had guessed that only he could see Tom's actions. "Whatever you desire, Lucius. I can give to you." As though to prove the point the ball of light, of pure magical energy, shifted and became the shape of piles of galleons. "Money, respect. Anything you desire."

Lucius watched Tom's hand with something that resembled awe, eyes wide and the shifting light reflecting in his iron eyes. "And…if I refuse?" he whispered loftily, when Tom closed his fingers and the ball of energy disappeared into nothing.

"Then you will have a second chance, Lucius," Tom had hissed dangerously, lips twisting into a snarl, "but if I have to come knocking on your door when I have come to power, I will not be so…_cordial _in my request." He paused, as though regaining composure. His lips again formed a smile. "You are a noble, powerful and influential wizard, Lucius. Most know of your name, and it would be beneficial to have you on my side. Just think how your name will be blessed in the future my wizard-kind when they know that you were the first follower of Lord Voldemort. The respect you will have."

"Lor-" Lucius began again in a normal volume since, with all the drink, he had forgotten himself, until Tom's glare silenced him. "Lord Voldemort?" he had finished a whisper matching Tom's tones.

"My alias. A name that one day all wizards will fear to even speak."

Question answered, Lucius leant back slightly. _Oh yes, the respect I would have_, he remembered having thought, _when all of this comes to pass. I do not have a wife and children to hold me back. I could achieve such endless admiration here. _It was not only this of which Lucius had thought of though. Truth be told, he had been truly intimidated at the threat, though he did his best to hide it. He had already seen what Tom Riddle was capable of, such ruthless acts, and did not doubt for a moment that if had not immediately said yes he would not have been in his armchair by the fire presently.

"What do you want me to do?" Lucius had whispered back, to Tom's apparent mirth.

"How good were you in Defence Against the Dark Arts at school?"

Lucius narrowed his eyes. "I got an O in my N.E.W.T.s."

"Ah, perfect," Tom hissed as though in triumph. He beckoned Lucius closer. "I want you to become a teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Lucius blinked. "What? Forgive me, Mr. Riddle" – "Lord Voldemort, please," cut in Tom. – "…Lord Voldemort, but I do not think that I would make a successful-"

"Yes, you will," Tom grinned slyly, "You will do it. Tomorrow, you will apply for the Defence Against the open Dark Arts position. Dumbledore is desperate for the last one met…and unfortunate end." Tom's smile suggested that it was not unfortunate at all. "I need you to get the job, and spy on Albus Dumbledore." Again, his gaze had drifted over Lucius' shoulder, making sure the barman was preoccupied. "I want you to document everything about him, and report back to me. His weaknesses, what he will do in order to attempt to stop my rise to power, for he _will _try and stop me. And he, being the only wizard who could possibly do so, will need to be closely observed by someone on the inside. Do you understand?"

Lucius stared blankly at Tom. The alcohol in his system had definitely addled his brain and made him lose rather a lot of common sense, for he unthinkingly inquired, "Why don't you get the job then?" His mind was not hazy enough to not notice instantaneously that he had touched a nerve. Tom's brow furrowed, and his face became not unlike thunder. Lucius' left hand clutched his wand tighter and retracted it slightly from his cane, ready to strike if Tom made any sudden movements.

"I have attempted numerous times to obtain to position," he had murmured through clenched teeth, "appealing to both Armando Dippet and Albus Dumbledore. I am sure that it is apparent I have not acquired the job. So I cursed it. No one will last for over a year. Though for one of my followers I can make an exception." Tom's face formed a grin, yet again. Lucius found his fluctuating moods dizzying. "So. Will you do it? Will you give yourself to Lord Voldemort and, in doing so, assist in ridding our world of everything detestable about it? Will you, Lucius Malfoy, become the most loyal follower to the most powerful and respected wizard in the _world?_"

Lucius had thought hard, and then harder still. He was backed into a corner. If he refused, he knew that, someday, Tom Riddle – Lord Voldemort – and his followers would blow down his door and would not, next time, take no for an answer. But then, the prospect of the glory and riches which awaited him did not by any means deter him. Perhaps if he had been sober he would have questioned it more but as it was he had not. Besides, unrelated to everything else, it was a new job, something to _do _other than visit Sir Spellbound's and sit alone in his overly spacious home. It was a reason to get out of bed in the morning, and he had no one at home who would miss him. No responsibilities at all.

Behind him, the man at the bar had said something along the lines of "So, them goats, 'ave you ever, y'know, got it on wiv 'em, Abby? 'Cause I know yer a lonely man 'ere and no one'd fink any worse of yer an-"

"Fletcher, get out, you're barred for life!" the barman had yelled, smashing the glass against the surface of the bar, drawing his wand from his filthy apron and sending the smoking man flying out of the door with a long swipe of it.

"'Ere, Abby, can I just finish m'dri-" called the man, opening the door of the pub a fraction, and disappearing again as the shot glass he was previously drinking from collided into the frame where his head had been only a second ago.

Lucius, completely ignoring the commotion of the bar, however, had stared back into Tom's dark eyes unblinkingly. "I will," he had whispered.

* * *

><p>Presently Lucius rubbed his eyes tiredly. During his reverie he had absently poured himself another glass of wine, which he was idly sipping. The fire had gone out, leaving only glowing embers as any indication it ever existed. Memories after that night over the previous six years he had not visited so often. They were hazy and blurred together; at some point he had taken the Unbreakable Vow to serve Lord Voldemort, and at some point had the infernal mark of his followers burned into his left forearm. At some point, when Tom Riddle had gained more like Lucius they began to call themselves Death Eaters, and call him the Dark Lord. At some point Lucius had taken Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem and, under strict instruction to hide it well, had hidden it well in The Room of Hidden Things within the Room of Requirements, which he would have never had discovered without clear direction.<p>

He had worked so hard over the years. Had done so much to spy on Albus, keep in correspondence with the Dark Lord to send relevant information to please him. He was so close, now, with information on The Order of the Phoenix to indeed be the Dark Lord's favourite disciple and yet, _yet_, he was allowing a girl to jeopardize it.

Ah, yes. His thoughts always returned to Miss Black, in some way or another. He drank his wine, left the glass on the table and sat in the darkness save for the moonlight streaming in through the window, entertaining thoughts of her. They were much better than thinking of that fateful night, at least. He wished he could return to sleep, but he was no longer tired, and knew if he did so he would be haunted, as usual.

He glanced over to the bedside table, where a Sleeping Draught for dreamless sleep resided inside the drawer. Lucius was tempted, sorely so, to use it every night as he was instructed by Albus, but to create the potion was out of even his abilities. A Sleeping Draught was easy enough, yes, but one to be designed to be taken nightly without side effects took an especially special brewing. And Lucius was not one to ask anyone for help, ever, let alone request Horace help him get to sleep. The shame he felt every time he dripped the last drop of a phial on his tongue and knew he'd have to solicit another from the Potions professor was enough to make him endure the fitful nights.

Again, he sighed, and rubbed his eyes. He would hazard a guess at barely half an hour having passed since he got out of bed, and it would be a long time until it would be socially acceptable to leave his room for a nice Sunday morning breakfast. He was tired, becoming irritable as he pushed his hair back off his face, reclined into the leather chair with an exasperated exhale. Why he couldn't just sleep eluded him. If only Gamp's Laws of Elemental Transfiguration did not state that information could not be created, for he would love to be informed what dreams plagued him every night.

If only Miss Black were there. On his lap, perhaps. Yes, always on his lap. Her warm breath on his neck as she lay upon him, whispers of soothing things tickling his ear. It was as though he could feel her, at that moment, the only thing separating their naked bodies on his leather armchair being his thin dressing gown. She would be kissing his cheek, his neck, as he shut his eyes, making soft noises of contentment, the warmth of her breasts pressed against his chest. His arms would be around her waist possessively, keeping her close to him, making sure no one else ever took her. Her hands would be in his hair, very gently and very slowly threading her fingers through the soft sheets, stroking all the way from his scalp to the tip, so very affectionately. Their breathing would be even, steady, and in time with one another, a constant and shared rhythm like a lullaby.

Lucius made a very soft sound, one of satisfaction, as he continued to feel Miss Black's hands in his hair, even as, in the armchair, he fell into his first dreamless sleep in such a long time.

* * *

><p><strong>I have a feeling this chapter may be somewhat confusing, but I've tried to make it as clear as possible. I doubt there will be one like this again, in any case.<strong>

**As always, thank you for reading thus far.**


	8. Chapter 8

**I had planned smut for this chapter. I seem to have, again, exceeded my own expectations in quantity. I hope you still enjoy, nonetheless (and I promise there will be smut in the next chapter, never fear!). c:**

* * *

><p>Quite contrary to Professor Malfoy's restless night, Narcissa woke on Sunday morning after having gone to bed a little more than cross with the pretentious supremacist son-of-a-bludger and had slept the whole night through. She remembered vaguely of dreaming about being in Paris with her mother, fawning over a pure white ball gown, decorated with diamonds and with underskirts of golden silk, and so when she opened her eyes had the desire for said dress to make her bad mood even worse.<p>

She quite irritably swallowed a little of the vile orange potion in her bedside table as compensation for the night before, and rose from her bed to commence the ritual of bathing to clean herself, paying close attention between her legs, and get dressed. She noticed that she didn't have as many bruises as she had done the morning after their first time, though her back was still dark with the shadowed blossoms. Her cunt, when she delicately cleaned herself, was sore to the touch but by no comparison to how it had hurt when she had been taken, and she felt a lot more sexually satiated than she had during that first time.

She didn't know why, but thoughts of the night before, in the teacher's bathroom, seemed to inspire some sort of tranquillity in her which she had not experienced before. It was odd. She hated Professor Malfoy for what he had said, but at the same time was perfectly at peace, even content, at the thought of him. Every time her contemplations wandered to him there was the familiar flutter in her abdomen, small due to her gratification only the night before, but it was as though she had taken some sort of warming potion. The feeling would instantly spread all the way around her as though it was in her blood, to her fingertips and toes, and she would be hard-pressed not to smile. And then she would think about what he said, and it was like having a bucket of ice poured upon her, killing her little butterflies and taking away the feeling of warmth.

_The bastard._

When Narcissa descended the dormitory stairs to the common room, her hair charmed into a loose French plait, clad again in a jumper which was clearly too big for her and shorts, the first thing she noticed were the dark, heavily-lidded eyes staring at her from the sofa by the fire. The eyes narrowed as Narcissa came into view.

"What _are_ you wearing?" came the only voice that could match those eyes, just as dark and menacing.

"Good morning to you too, Bella," Narcissa muttered haughtily, making her way over to her usual seat.

She would hazard a guess at being just before breakfast, for there were few people in the common room and most were puffy-eyed and yawning. Wind howled through the room from the dungeons, an indication of the worsening weather. She noticed that Rodolphus was not at Bella's side, and that none of the members of the Slytherin quidditch team were present within the drowsy occupants of the common room, and suspected that Professor Malfoy had them out practising for the upcoming match despite the dreadful conditions.

_Seems like something he'd so, the elitist, arrogant, insufferable -_

"Mother would turn in her grave if she could see you in that, Cissy," Bellatrix scowled at her youngest sister, eyeing up her shoes with the demure white socks, her exposed legs and overly large cashmere jumper, white today.

Narcissa retaliated by wandering her eyes up Bellatrix, but there was not really much to take in. When she wasn't in uniform, she was always wearing a set of long, plain robes which covered her entire body, including her feet. It was always hooded, though today the hood was down to expose her mass of black hair which could only be described as untameable.

"For one thing, mother isn't dead," Narcissa snapped back coldly, "and you try forcing yourself into overly tight corsets and fitted dresses for the first sixteen years of your life and not want to just wear a nice warm jumper." She huffed loudly, folding her arms over her chest and pulling her feet up onto the armchair, her knees up to her chest. "You were lucky, daddy's girl. You didn't have mother putting you in puffy-sleeved dresses better suited on a doll."

"You shouldn't look so much like a doll then," Bellatrix chided, turning a rather mocking smile to Narcissa's scowl.

"I will wear what I wish, Bella. And you won't stop me. And mother certainly won't."

"So when you go home for Christmas you will continue wearing your _jumpers_?" The sarcasm dripped from her words like treacle on a spoon.  
>Narcissa exhaled loudly in exasperation, but did not warrant it with a reply. Surely enough, if her mother found her in such clothing, rather than the skirts and dresses which Druella preferred, she would buy herself a coffin just to spin in. She picked testily at the sleeves of her jumper, suddenly feeling uncomfortable and wishing she'd worn one of her many dresses.<p>

There was the soft clicking as Bellatrix charmed two long, slender needles on the table in front of her to rise from the surface and begin knitting, guided by the wand held steadily in her hand. Narcissa noted how much the current knitted creation, made of thick black wool, looked like a noose.

They sat in near-silence for what seemed like an age. Narcissa watched the needles flashing green with the flames of the newly-lit fire as they weaved in and out of each other, clacking and clicking in a perfect rhythm, like some sort of lullaby. People were sidling into the common room by this time, shuffling from the dormitory stairs with dishevelled hair or still clad in dressing gowns. Narcissa watched as some left through the portrait hole, bleary-eyed and in search for food, allowing their noses to guide them to their Sunday morning breakfast.

_Professor Malfoy will be there, _she thought dully, picking at her jumper with as much vehemence as she could muster. _Looking at the Daily Prophet as he does every morning, with his stupid coffee and his stupid face and his-_

"You're hiding something, Cissy," cut in Bellatrix tersely, "Would you care to tell me what it is?"

The youngest Black panicked. She knew Bella's stubbornness when she thought something was wrong, and also knew the extent to which she would go to obtain the information. Being careful to put up the defences of her mind, should Bella resort to her preferred method of information extraction, Narcissa answered levelly, "I'm not hiding anything from you, Bella. Why would you think that?"

The oldest Black narrowed her eyes, looking already quite irritated. She motioned around Narcissa with a careless wave of her hand, acknowledging the many little pieces of wool which littered the armchair in which Narcissa always sat, having been picked from her jumper. "And your expression was the one you use when you're not getting your own way. Has Crowley been bothering you again, because if so." The utterance didn't need an ending. The smile which twisted Bellatrix's features was more than enough for Narcissa to deduce that she should have never told her older sister about getting caught in the Potions classroom with Tobias.

She opened her mouth to reply, when she was saved the trouble from a declaration of, "Cissa! There you are!" It was Maurice's voice, as she sauntered towards the two Black sisters from the boy's dormitory stairs, looking particularly fresh-faced and glowing. Fleetingly, Narcissa wondered if Walden could pleasure Maurice with even a fraction of the intensity which Professor Malfoy bestowed upon her. Then she remembered Bella's partiality to Legilimency, and decided that that thought would not be good to have at the front of her mind if her sister suddenly attacked her mental walls. She reminded herself that she hated him, scolded herself, and pushed all thought of him to the back of her mind.

"Where _were _you last night?" Narcissa felt her blood run cold, something very heavy dropping into her stomach, and pointedly avoided Bellatrix's eye. "I waited up for you in the common room but… I got a little bored." She smiled mischievously, as though no one else but she knew the activities that went on behind closed drapes. Narcissa would have rolled her eyes, were she not attempting to come up with a very quick excuse.

"I was in- I was in the Prefect's bathroom. I went for a bath and fell asleep in there." She made sure that she still did not look at Bellatrix, whose eyes were by this time so narrow that they looked almost closed, mouth down-turned in a disbelieving scowl.

She was saved the torture of waiting for Bella to act on any suspicions she was harbouring, however, when Maurice replied with, "Oh. Okay. Breakfast?" and turned to leave without further ado. Narcissa, grateful for an excuse to abandon her sister's intense scrutiny, immediately pushed herself out of the chair and followed. She looked back over her shoulder just in time to see Bella flick her wand and observe the partially knitted creation combust into bright blue flame, immediately falling apart and landing in smouldering lumps on the coffee table.

The Great Hall was surprisingly quiet for a Sunday morning, though Narcissa could tell why. Despite the steaming plates of hot porridge, sausages and toast, and the candles which illuminated the room due to it being such a dull winter morning, it was immensely cold. The ceiling-sky was a steely, sombre grey, huge billowing rain clouds threatening to throw their frozen load down upon the castle. Hail was always the worst weather for Slytherins, for the pounding of the little ice blocks were like war drums by the time they had reverberated all the way around the dungeons to the common room. It made one grateful to go to bed purely for the muffling charms cast upon the dormitories to keep noise from the outside world exactly that – out.

Narcissa and Maurice took their seats at the Slytherin table and began their favourite ritual of looking around at everyone else in their own clothes and criticizing them heavily in between bites of croissant and sips of pumpkin juice. It was something they had done most weekends since second year, and still they had not grown tired of it: "Have you _seen _that Hufflepuff's hair? I mean, that was probably around in Professor Binns' time," or "Look how low that girl's top is. She could be in Play Wizard, if she was more attractive." They often ended up in silent fits of giggles, trying not to attract too much attention. However, Narcissa found that her heart wasn't quite in it. She laughed distractedly, and often caught herself being too busy looking up at the teacher's table to concern herself with other students around the room.

As expected, there he was. His usual seat, second in from the left side, from Narcissa's perspective. While the other teachers were talking jovially over eggs and bacon, the half-breed oaf at the right end of the table with what appeared to be an entire pig and the scrambled contents of what Narcissa suspected to be a dragon egg, Professor Malfoy seemed to be refusing to talk to anyone. The squib at the far left of the table seemed to be too preoccupied with his cat to care, anyway.

Professor Malfoy had, as Narcissa suspected he would, the day's issue of the Daily Prophet open in front of him. He appeared to be deep in concentration for, even though Narcissa was a fair distance from him, she could see the creases in his brow as it furrowed. In front of the paper she could see a glass of cranberry juice and, beside that, what she suspected was either tea or coffee from the wisps of smoke which issued from the rim of the cup, unable to see the contents due to the raised platform on which the teacher's table reigned.

She watched him for what must have been an inordinate amount of time, for she could hear Maurice rambling about _something _in the background but had paid no attention to her. She was busy hating Professor Malfoy. Hating everything about him. Hating those defined features, the way his hair shifted even at the slightest movements, how enthralling she found the movements of his fingers as they massaged his temple. She took some pride, however, in noticing the black silken scarf around his neck and being the only one who knew why it was there, and why his robes were fastened considerably higher, right under his chin.

_Those are _my _marks, from when he was pulling me desperately close, before he-_

No! No, she would not think of that. He was an arrogant, chauvinistic pig. She was not just a casual fling! She failed at attempting to find a word to describe what they actually were, but knew she was so much better than that, and better than all his other 'lovers' (even the voice in her head was sarcastic at this word, for she detested it. It was pretentious, and a lie. Lovers did not love one another. She paused. Perhaps she had found the word to describe what they were).

She disregarded her lack of experience as she thought this, raising her head high and forcing her shoulders back. She was worth more, more than he could ever deserve. The best thing she could do was just to forget everything that had transpired between them. Yes, that was best. Their…whatever they had would never go anywhere, and be best forgotten. Her father would, at that moment, no doubt in his armchair in 12 Grimmauld Place, sucking on his pipe and filling the living room with the surprisingly sweet scent of pumpkin tobacco, deliberating who to betroth his youngest daughter to. She was his last chance, for Andy would not marry anyone her father told her to even if she wanted to herself, and no man would agree to marry Bella for fear of castration, being set on fire, psychotic children etcetera. Therefore, Narcissa had to marry who she was told to, and she would most certainly not be betrothed to Professor Malfoy.

At that moment, the thought of that relieved her. Not being married to a pompous, egotistical _arsehole _– she ignored her mind scalding her for swearing – was very appealing indeed. Despite how attractive he looked when he was in such deep contemplation.

"Cissa!" Maurice yelled, her voice bouncing around the stone walls of the Great Hall and sounding like there was many more of her.

"What?" Narcissa snapped as everyone, including Professor Malfoy, looked up and around at her and Maurice. She flushed a light pink and stared down at the Slytherin table, ignoring the gaze of Professor Malfoy which she could feel boring into her.

"Did you listen to _anything _I just said?" Maurice sniffed haughtily, flicking her head to motion over Narcissa's shoulder, "Your cousin's behind you. He wants you, I think. I don't know, he's being very subtle."

Narcissa turned to look over her shoulder, and Sirius was indeed standing directly behind her, staring at her pointedly. The intensity in his gaze was a lot like her father's when she was about to be severely scolded, Narcissa noticed. _A Black through and through, despite the _maroon. She sneered at his murky reddy-brown shirt before meeting his eyes. "Yes?" she questioned sharply, quite irritated at his interruption.

"I need to talk to you, Cissa," he murmured. His tone was reminiscent of someone at a funeral, addressing the deceased's beloved. "Alone," he added pointedly, when Narcissa proceeded to simply look expectantly up at him.

She threw the last of her croissant down on her plate and took a last sip of pumpkin juice, leaving Sirius to stare down at her impatiently, as punishment for his rudeness. He kept waiting, though, and so she knew she could no longer delay the inevitable.

As the Black girl rose, sighing exasperatedly, she glanced over at the Gryffindor table. Potter, his hair dishevelled and glasses slightly askew, was staring at her and Sirius. Lupin and Petti-something were sitting opposite him, both looking up at the teacher's table. She followed their gaze to Professor Malfoy, who had risen, his paper under his arm, and was conversing with Professor Dumbledore who also had a copy of the Daily Prophet in his hand. She noticed that, now Professor Malfoy had picked his paper up, an untouched piece of very pale toast had been residing beneath the pages, with him being clearly too preoccupied to eat.

Narcissa felt something cold grip her stomach again. _They can't know. Surely they don't know… _She turned back to look at the back of Sirius' head, concentrating on following the waves of dark hair lest her legs start trembling and give way at the nerves she felt, as he led her from the Great Hall to the Entrance Hall and pushed her against the nearest wall. Ignoring the stares of the few people who were there, his hand remained on her shoulder to keep her still.

"Cissa," he murmured quickly, and she noticed what sounded like a growl in his voice. His eyes were dark and sunken, as though he had not slept. "Is there somethin' you wanna tell me?"

"I don't," Narcissa began to protest, but Professor Dumbledore swept from the hall at that moment, Professor Malfoy close behind. The latter turned his head and fixed Narcissa a hard stare as he passed, but she could not tell what he was trying to convey through his stoic mask. It was so quick that she wasn't even entirely sure that he had given her any look at all, in fact. She watched his ascent of the marble staircase, her hatred squashed under her worry at that moment. She turned back to look into Sirius' eyes, "know what you're talking about."

Sirius seemed to steel himself. "Why were you in the teacher's bathroom with Malfoy last night?"

She found it suddenly hard to breathe. It was as though Sirius had smashed his hands through her ribs, gripped her lungs and was rendering them useless. "What are you-?" she began, beginning to formulate a lie more out of habit than anything else. She stopped herself, however, in favour of furrowing her brow, glowering darkly at Sirius. "Have you been following me?"

She must have looked positively psychotic, for apparently her expression warranted Sirius taking a small spell back in recoil, removing his hand from her shoulder. "No. I have my ways." There was a very awkward pause. "Cissa, are you and him-?"

"No, we are not, and if we were it would be none of your business!" she spat out at him, hands curling into little fists, but the deep blush which stained her cheeks did not help her case.

"Then why were you in there?"

There really was no lie that she could come up with which was even remotely feasible, even with her amount of practise. "Who have you told?" she demanded in hushed tones as a group of Hufflepuffs passed by too close for her comfort. Then, again, she panicked. "Dumbledore. You told Professor Dumbledore, didn't you? That's why he-!"

"No," Sirius cut in, again in that growl, "Merlin knows I should've gone straight to him, but I didn't. Whyever Dumbledore's talking to Malfoy now, it's not 'cause he's been fu-" He stopped himself, for Narcissa looked as though she would slap him at any moment. "Been doing things a professor shouldn't do with a student."

Sirius got a slap anyway, hard across the face. "Do you think I'm some sort of whore, Sirius?" she demanded, attracting attention from the few stragglers in the Entrance Hall now. It seemed Sirius was biting back a reply, so she administered another, harder, slap on the same cheek.

"Stop it, will you!" Sirius protested, rubbing his smarting cheek. His eyes widened when she suddenly gripped the collar of his maroon shirt, bringing his face closer to hers.

Since she was so small, Narcissa knew some of the threat was lost on her gangly cousin, but she suspected even he could guess the implications. "Tell anyone," she whispered through gritted teeth, "especially Bellatrix or Dumbledore, and I swear I will make sure you never father children, dog or otherwise, Sirius Black the third."

"I think if I so much as stood next to Bellatrix, she would stop me from doing that herself," Sirius replied matter-of-factly, prising Narcissa's fingers from the grip they had on his shirt collar, "or, y'know, kill me. I'm sure she'll take any excuse to kill me."

"She doesn't need an excuse, when it comes to you," Narcissa responded in a dull mutter, her hands falling back to her sides. "Now, if that is all, Sirius."

He narrowed his eyes. "I won't report him to Dumbledore but… You should, Cissa. Whatever he's done to you it… It's wrong. I mean, he's old enough to…He's a scumbag. He's leading you on, you're just a child, and- Narcissa Elladora Black don't you walk away from me."

Narcissa turned on heel, pulling her wand out of her sleeve in an instant and sending a curse spiralling towards Sirius. "Do _not _mention my full name!" she screamed, as Sirius ducked, the curse blasting a hole in the wall where his face had been mere seconds before, and fled back into the Great Hall. Flustered, and cursing the name of everything with phallic anatomy, she stormed away.

* * *

><p>"What is so urgent you have to see me immediately, Albus?" Lucius inquired as he seated himself in the headmaster's office, on the chair across the desk from the headmaster himself. The older man looked deep in concentration, his hands interlocked across his overly long beard, staring down at them over his half-moon spectacles. Lucius leant his cane against the arm of his own chair, staring attentively at Albus and thinking, again, how very aged he looked. The portraits lining the circular walls appeared to be deep in sleep or consumed in knitting, but Lucius could tell they were listening as intently as he.<p>

Albus did not begin immediately. He lifted a hand from his chest, motioning to a small bowl on his desk, before knitting his fingers together again. "May I first of all offer you a sherbet lemon?"

Lucius glanced at the obnoxiously yellow sweets and sneered reproachfully at them, as though their very presence was an insult to him. "You may offer, but I will decline. I am afraid I have never had a fondness of lemon, to say the least."

Albus inclined his head, both in acceptance and in acknowledgment of his copy of the Daily Prophet which lay on his desk. "You have read the article about the missing family, I trust?" he inquired, sounding quite old, too.

Lucius nodded once. "The Bones family."

"Indeed." Albus sighed heavily. "Edgar and Louisa Bones were two of those whom have been reported missing. They play an active role in the Order of the Phoenix." He raised his hands to pull off his spectacles and tiredly rub his eyelids. "I am afraid that there may, indeed, be a traitor in our midst, Lucius."

Lucius was careful to show no emotion whatsoever, forcing his voice into something which could resemble concern. "Who have you told about the active members, Albus?"

The headmaster waved his hand flippantly, dismissing any notion of his question. "The people I have told, rest assured, would never betray me. I believe I am being spied on, Lucius, and therefore the school is not safe. The defensive measures I spoke of need to be put into action as soon as possible."

Again, Lucius nodded. "So you think that the Bones' got caught out? How, Albus? Surely, being in the Order, they are careful with what information they fritter away."

Albus smiled, causing his face to crease into a multitude of lines. The gesture did not reach his eyes, which stayed a hard blue. "Edgar was a close associate with a man called Antonin Dolohov, who we suspected to be a follower of Lord Voldemort. Our suspicions turned out to be correct and, though I told Edgar to never contact Dolohov again, he insisted on extracting information and giving it to the Daily Prophet. Of course, he had to stay an anonymous source to the Ministry, and could not ask too much else he would be discovered by Dolohov. And because Dolohov was his only source of information, he did not immediately get the man apprehended. He was planning on doing that when more information had been extracted, with evidence on whom Lord Voldemort is, and the plots he is preparing."

Albus sighed heavily again, rubbing his eyes once more before replacing his spectacles. "They, Lord Voldemort, appear to have been tipped off, for Dolohov fed Edgar some untrue information. That the people who work for the organisation of Lord Voldemort's following know themselves as the 'Knights of Walpurgis', as you may have read in the Daily Prophet barely a few days ago. Another source, a more private one of mine, tells me that that was a lie and they actually call themselves Death Eaters. Thus Edgar was…discovered, and is probably now accepting some form of punishment. Where, I do not know, and how the Death Eaters came to suspect Edgar in the first place, I also do not know, but I suspect the information came from within these very walls.

"Now, some Death Eaters I can identify for certain, though do not have solid evidence to prove it, have children who attend this school. Nott, Avery, McNair, Crabbe, Goyle. It seems I underestimated the persuasive powers of Lord Voldemort" – Lucius shifted just a little, but hid it by crossing one leg over the other. – "and that this is a much more wide-spread and organised force than I ever could have imagined. I suspect that he was gathering followers even during his time at this school, since, indeed, the fathers of the students I have just named attended Hogwarts at around the same time as Tom Marvolo Riddle. And I now suspect that the children are continuing their father's work. Perhaps not of their own accord, for I would trust any one of my students with my life, Lucius. But perhaps threats from their fathers, a thirst to prove themselves, or even the Imperius Curse is a possibility that cannot be ruled out." Again, he took in a deep breath and sighed it out, finally falling silent.

There was a moment of utter, awkward quiet. The people in the portraits around the room had stopped attempting to maintain the pretence of being asleep or absorbed in some other activity, and were clearly hanging onto Albus' every word. Lucius glanced upwards to see the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black staring straight at him, rather than Albus, with the same dark eyes as the oldest Black daughter he taught. He looked back at Albus quickly.

"Are you afraid, Albus?" Lucius murmured silkily, finally breaking the silence.

The stare that the headmaster bestowed upon Lucius was like ice; so glacial it was impenetrable, yet with a vulnerability in them, the promise that in a very strong sun he would cease to exist. "Of course I am, Lucius. Muggles and Muggle-borns are going inexplicably missing left, right and centre, and the Ministry is too busy trying to cover a scandal to do anything about it. The world is about to tip into uproar beneath our feet. Dark times lie before us, Lucius. Dark times indeed. As for Edgar and his family." A pause. "I hope beyond hope for their return, but alas I do not believe that Lord Voldemort would have reason to abduct an entire family like that without having plans of not giving them back. Edward, his wife, – Louisa, I mentioned her, yes? - their children and their parents. It's a lot of people, and they are a much respected wizarding family. If we do not find them soon I can… only fear the worst."

"How do we know that th- Lord Voldemort has taken them?" Lucius replied, quickly remedying the habitual use of 'the Dark Lord' for he knew it would not help his façade of innocence. Albus didn't seem to notice. "They may have just…gone missing."

Albus rubbed his temple slowly, meditatively. "Even the Daily Prophet has put two and two together, Lucius. Since we know the full story, I believe it quite obvious that the Bones' are now in the hands of Lord Voldemort." He fixed Lucius another intense stare. "You have the brother of Edgar Bones in your fifth-year class, Samuel Bones, do you not? He has decided, despite the family situation, to remain in school. His sister, Amelia, who works in the Ministry, has naturally asked up to keep a close eye on him. I will not allow either of them to think that he is in any danger. Thus I must request of you, if you are not preoccupied in the near future, your assistance to put Anti-Apparation and Disapparation Charms on the entire school, as well as a stronger Caterwauling Charm to monitor the apparation of the house-elves. I, and the headmasters and mistresses before myself, have been naïve, expecting Disillusionments and moderately powerful charms to keep us safe. Now that this threat is present…we must become an impenetrable fortress. Somewhere no Death Eater can come within fifty feet of."

Other than finding this highly ironic, and again being masterful in hiding his smirk, Lucius just nodded once. "I would hardly say moderately powerful, Albus. Hogwarts is undoubtedly one of the safest places known to any kind."

"Here here!" carolled the portrait of Newton Scamander, who was immediately shushed by the rest of them as though they thought they had so far been successfully hiding the fact that they were eavesdropping.

"But, alas, not strong enough," Albus sighed, stroking his fingers through his lengthy beard.

Lucius watched for a moment, waiting for the headmaster to say more. When nothing else was said, however, he inclined his head. "I hope they are found safely soon, Albus," he lied, his voice so sincere that he would have surprised himself if he wasn't used to being such a good actor.

"I, too, Lucius," Albus murmured sombrely, "but, alas, I believe I have kept you from your coffee and cranberry juice for long enough. I beg your pardon; you should return and finish your breakfast." Albus rose from his chair, signalling the very end of the conversation. Lucius did likewise and nodded curtly, turning to excuse himself from the headmaster's office.

"Oh, Lucius," Albus called just as Lucius was about to leave, his hand on the doorknob.

He looked over his shoulder to see Albus putting his wand to his temple, extracting a long strand of thought which clung to the tip of it. "Yes?" It wasn't until Albus had crossed the room and safely deposited his string of consciousness into his Pensieve that he spoke again.

"I _do _like that scarf."

* * *

><p>The days which followed the night in the teacher's bathroom were frosty for Professor Malfoy for more reasons that the atrocious weather. The icicles which formed outside the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom windows, creating bars which all too accurately resembled those on the door of a prison cell, were warm in comparison to the girl who sat staring at them, head on her hand as usual, gazing broodily and listlessly out into the blizzard of hail beyond.<p>

Narcissa had not been alone with Professor Malfoy for the past few days, slowly edging into another week, and had no desire to be, from a culmination of the dislike she still harboured for him and the fact that, it being a particular time of the month, she was harbouring dislike for everything in general. In fact, she had barely looked him in the eye since the brief moment on the morning in the Entrance Hall. The most time she had spent with him, save for her lessons themselves, was when she left a jar of pale make-up surreptitiously on his desk as she swept from the classroom after a lesson, had met his gaze for a moment, and left with her head high and her eyes set on the corridor. Not as odd as this sounds, she did this on the Monday morning after they had been together in the bath, since she noticed him still wearing the black silken scarf and his cloak high to hide the assortment of bruises lingering over his throat. However, he didn't seem to put it to use since, for the entire week he continued to wear the scarf. Though maybe, Narcissa reasoned, he just liked it.

Quite happy to give him a taste of his own medicine, Narcissa proceeded to ignore him.

Crowley had not bothered Narcissa for some time, though she doubted he would leave her alone when the quidditch match was finally over and done with. The team could be seen trampling into the common room most nights now, covered in a thick layer of snow and collapsing in front of the fire like nargles on mistletoe. He always appeared too exhausted to even give Narcissa those gazes which were a pathetic attempt at being seductive, which she was grateful for.

The routine which had forced itself into the evenings of the Slytherin quidditch team was being executed on this particular Sunday night: "I 'ate Malfoy," Greengrass grumbled into the fire, very nearly putting his entire face into the flames in an attempt to get warm. Narcissa watched from her armchair with interest, looking up from her barely-started essay on Herpo the Foul for Professor Binns. "If 'e's so intent on winnin' 'e can play the bloody match 'imself."

Crowley mumbled his agreement, rubbing his arms – Narcissa noticed they were quite toned, but scolded herself for it – while Rodolphus practically crawled up to Bellatrix on the sofa, clearly seeking warmth. Or sex. Or warmth through sex. Either way, he was invading Bella's personal space, and Narcissa was most certainly not surprised when she set his hair on fire.

"There, _love_, that should warm you," Bella lilted mockingly, the endearment especially dripping in sarcasm. Narcissa knew perfectly well the oldest Black was more likely to have the child of a Gryffindor, call it Lula and teach it to tap dance than actually mean a sweet nothing.

Rodolphus struggled to put his hair out, to the amusement of everyone including, to Narcissa's surprise, Severus, whose lips were twisted into a very slight smirk from over in his corner, but managed to eventually. The smell of burning filled the common room, and every occupant began to move away from the seat taken by Bellatrix, except for Rodolphus who seemed to have not learnt his lesson and moved in for a second attempt. She kissed him this time, but it was not tender. His lips were for biting.

Narcissa returned to her essay with a quiet tut, no longer engaged with the proceedings of Bellatrix making her man-slave fight for his dominance. Narcissa knew that Bella was interested only in the displays of power that Rodolphus could give her, how his strong arms could no doubt pin her down to the bed as he – _like Professor Malfoy has pinned me to the wall, to the side of the bath_ - …yes, well. It was only the obvious strength in his muscular arms, exposed to the entire common room as his shirt was torn from him, which allured her to him. Nothing else. He would get his heart broken by her one day.

_But what of me? Does Professor Malfoy want me only because of my vulnerability? Merlin, does he even _want _me?_

Unable to concentrate now, for the obnoxiously loud noises from the sofa and the equally loud complaints from one or two other Slytherins watching the display of 'affection' who had the audacity to protest at Bella, Narcissa stoppered her ink and rolled her parchment up, leaning back in her armchair. It wasn't really the noises that were putting her off, but she allowed herself to imagine that it was so, for she could not bear to contemplate that she was thinking about Professor Malfoy.

She struggled to keep a laugh in. Merlin, she was thinking about Professor Malfoy by thinking about not thinking about him. She had noticed that her grades were getting better in Defence Against the Dark Arts, much to her secret amusement, but other than that she had no indication that Professor Malfoy cared for or even wanted her in any way, shape or form. Not that she expected him to, of course. No, never. For she didn't care or want him. No. The mere thought of that was preposterous.

Preposterous!

"So, what do you want for your birthday, Cissy?" came Bella's voice, thankfully cutting through Narcissa's internal rant.

For a moment she was very confused. Birthday? Oh. Yes. It was the 1st December, and her birthday was in two days. How strange she forgot. With everything, Professor Malfoy and her inordinate amount of work for her O.W.L.s, it seemed to not exist to her. In her state, it took her longer than a moment still to register that she had been asked a question, process the meaning of it, and come up with an appropriate answer. As it was, she didn't even manage to do all of that; she shrugged half-heartedly.

"Oh come now, Cissy, you must want something," Bella urged.

Narcissa did not really want to talk to Bellatrix while Rodolphus was so animatedly kissing her neck, but Bella seemed to be completely ignoring him, and she thought it would be rude to deprive Rodolphus of his lover's (_Ah, that word again.) _attention for no reason. "I don't really _need _anything. You know what I like." As soon as she said this, she regretted it. What she liked, and what Bellatrix thought she liked, were two completely different things.

This seemed to be adequate for Bellatrix, however, for she turned away from Narcissa as she finally rose from the sofa, Rodolphus loyally in tow. Narcissa watched them ascend the stairs to the boy's dormitory, with a few sighs of relief here and there around the common room and a not so subtle clearing of a throat from Andy, who was again brooding over her star charts. She glanced up to meet Narcissa's eyes. Both sisters rolled them at the same instant, and fell back into silence.

* * *

><p>Somewhere above Lucius, a clock chimed ten times. He could hear the sound resonate through the dungeons, as it had done on that very eventful and now very distant night when he had taken Miss Black for the first time. The clock rang out ten times inevitably every night, and every night he thought only of that event, as though it had been conditioned by association into his mind. He massaged his temple, waited for the chimes to start sounding less like Miss Black's cries of ecstasy and got back to looking over his paperwork.<p>

The business with Albus in protecting the school was much more time-consuming and draining than Lucius could ever have anticipated. Over course, he knew it wouldn't be easy to shield and entire school and its vicinity from most possible scenarios, but the sheer energy it took to cast just one protective spell was physically exhausting, even for him. No wonder Albus didn't want to do it alone. Lucius had found himself over the past week working with the headmaster and Minerva in order to set down the spells, one at a time. The elements did not help, for the hail, snow, sleet and Merlin knows what else pounded upon Lucius despite his strong ImperviusCharm and he sank into the thick snow as he tried to concentrate on performing and maintaining the needed incantations to protect the ungrateful bags of hormones within the castle. Even harder for him was keeping the loopholes in his own spells unbeknownst to Albus and Minerva, and it was even more draining on him. Often he would stagger back to the castle, afterwards, and collapse straight onto his bed, shivering but too exhausted to do anything but sleep. Fairly lucky that Miss Black hated him at that time, really, for he suspected that a session of any sort of physical activity would finish him off.

For this reason, he had quite the backlog of disciplinary reports, though it was not exactly infrequent for him to have quite a lot at the end of every day anyway. Slytherins were not best renowned for their agreeability or their fantastic behaviour, after all. Lucius could understand perfectly, for in his school years he had often been bored to tears by Cuthbert, and had, like present students, found himself wordlessly rubbing one or two numbers from one of Septima's overly long formulae or number charts which, once, caused her to have a nervous breakdown. What these students lacked, however, was the vital Slytherin skill of manipulating oneself out of trouble, something he had mastered by the end of his first year.

He sighed as he turned another piece of parchment over, having read over it, and began on the 'B' section (Argus, who always brought Lucius the reports (and took great pleasure in it, too) believed very much in alphabetical filing). Ah. As always. Black. He couldn't escape the bloody family. He sighed and resigned himself to reading.

Andromeda Black – not listening, not following simple instructions, rebellion, the usual which Lucius didn't have the time to care about. She was a blood traitor in the making, and he refused to make time in an attempt to remedy that. In his opinion, her father should have squashed it out of her years ago. Next, Bellatrix Black. The oldest Miss Black often surprised Lucius. He had been receiving disciplinary reports for her since he started working at Hogwarts, when she was just in her second year. All were horrific. She had had quite a few warnings for hexing other students in lesson, didn't do anything concerning work, was uncooperative, etcetera etcetera. Yet in his lesson she couldn't listen enough; the look of admiration in her eyes always present, always full of knowledge on any subject he approached. To read the latest update that she had cast such a powerful Sneezing Hex on Filius that he had sneezed himself off the pile of books he situated himself on to teach and had to be rushed to the hospital wing caused Lucius to raise an eyebrow and feel somewhat honoured.

He signed the bottom of the page for the umpteenth time to signify that he had indeed read it and turned it over onto the signed pile. He swore a little spasm occurred somewhere between his lungs at the next page, and was worried for a moment that he was having a heart attack but no, it was just Miss Black. _The _Miss Black.

The little black-and-white photographs of the students which were at the top right hand side of every page, which to Lucius always seemed a ridiculous idea, suddenly seemed the best idea in the world. The miniature Miss Black looked up at him, trying to look very innocent indeed. The small amount of information at the side of the picture, which also always seemed irrelevant and unnecessary to Lucius, also seemed a very good idea. He had never really looked at it in great detail, for he did not get close to students (except for when they forced themselves upon him, perhaps, like the annoyingly amiable oldest Master Lestrange who quite frequently visited Lucius in his office), but Miss Black's seemed most interesting to him:

Name: Narcissa Elladora Black

Birth date: 03/12/55

Wand: Nine inch ash wood; dragon heartstring

Lucius cleared his throat as he read the year of her birth, but did not think on it more. It would only make his conscience want to crush him. He was, however, very interested in the rest of the date. Only two days until her birthday. Hm. It was the perfect opportunity, really, to get back on her good side, where he admittedly preferred to be. Not for the physical things, of course, for he was a very professional teacher. Just because she could prove to be volatile and tell people of their activities behind closed doors if she wished to, and just a drop of Veritaserum would confirm everything she would say. That was the only reason he wanted to be on her good side. Not because of her touch, her smell, her smile on the few occasions when it was undeniably sincere. Of course not.

It would be too dangerous for him to do what he was planning out in his head, but the Caterwauling Charm to monitor the house-elves had not yet been put in place. He could use that to his advantage. He snapped his fingers once, waited for one second, two seconds, and there was the familiar crack as Dobby apparated in the middle of his office. He was looking particularly wide-eyed, clutching at his pillow case as though for some sort of security.

"What took you so long?" Lucius demanded harshly, causing the house-elf to wince and take a shambling step back.

"Dobby is sorry, Master," it squeaked, looking down at the floor, "Dobby was sleeping, sir. Dobby was dreaming, sir." It seemed to have the common decency to know that its answer was not even in the same area as an acceptable response, for it cowered under the intensity of its Master's eyes. "D-Dobby is sorry, sir!"

"When you get home, you are to put your head on the edge of the grand piano and slam the lid down repeatedly. Understood?" The house-elf nodded meekly. "Now, do you remember the Goblin-owned jewellery shop in London which I frequent? In the better parts of London, not the cheap excuses for fine wares in Diagon Alley."

Again, the little creature nodded timidly. "Fogbrook and Burhak's, sir?"

Lucius did not warrant the house-elf with an answer, instead tearing a small piece of parchment from the roll at the wide of his desk, hunching over it and swiftly scribbling in tiny handwriting. "Take this to one of the owners. Put it straight into their hand," Lucius ordered, holding out the piece of parchment to the house-elf. Dobby tentatively approached, took the piece of parchment and bowed so low that his nose almost touched the ground as he moved backwards again. "Tell them that I want it created, to the utmost of perfection, by the end of tomorrow. If they protest, remind them what happened to the establishment across the street from them when I gave it a bad review. Remind them also that money is no object, therefore I shall pay them well for their services."

Dobby nodded frantically, his ears flapping. "Is that all that Master will be wanting?"

"Yes. Now get out of my sight." There was a loud crack and Dobby did exactly that.

Alone again, Lucius blew out an exasperated sigh and looked back down to the parchment, at the image of the girl who was causing him so much trouble. She was still looking up at him all too innocently, moving this way and that into a number of rather aesthetically pleasing angles.

He signed his name at the bottom of her disciplinary report without mustering the energy to read it, muttering to no one in particular, "You'd better be worth it, Miss Black," before turning over the parchment.

* * *

><p><strong>As always, thank you for reading thus far.<strong>


	9. Chapter 9

**Quick chapter update, because I had so much fun writing this. As promised, there is smut. I hope you enjoy. c:**

* * *

><p>Narcissa woke to the sounds of life in her dormitory, beyond the safety of her drapes. Voices she couldn't quite make out in her bleary-eyed state and sounds of rustling sheets and clothes. She rubbed her eyelids with the heels of her hands, yawning quietly and stretching, before pulling the drapes of her four-poster back. As she suspected, the dormitory was full of its occupants, and the girls were awake and gossiping. They were mostly half-dressed, buttoning up shirts or pulling on socks.<p>

"Ah, Cissa," declared Maurice, seeing that the Black had awoken. "Happy birthday!" The rest of the girls greeted her likewise, with false smiles and their usual façade charm. "This is from us." A small, neatly wrapped package was thrusted into Narcissa's hand, and they watched her expectantly.

Murmuring her thanks, though not really meaning it since she didn't even have chance to get out of bed, Narcissa pulled the thin silver ribbon from the package and neatly parted the green wrapping parchment, being very careful to keep it whole without a tear. Inside was a velvety box, and inside that her present.

It was a tiny little book, about the size of her thumb. The title '_A Thousand Hexes and How to Use Them: The Portable Edition by Hubert Edgemund Xerona_' glared up at her in obnoxious yellow writing from the black background. It was bound in leather, with miniature metal guards on the corners. She flicked through it and smirked at some of the effects of the many hexes.

"Are you sure this is a good decision?" Narcissa smiled at Maurice, who simply shrugged. "Thank you," she said again, putting the little book on her bedside table before shifting out of bed in search of clothes. "How come you're not in uniform?"

"S'quidditch today," answered Alberta Raine, the girl who slept in the bed to the left of Narcissa's, before anyone else could. "Slytherin vs. Gryffindor. Didn't you realise?"

The rest of the dormitory occupants looked at Narcissa incredulously as she shook her head, slipping into a pair of rather small underwear and a matching bra. They looked as though she had just informed them that she had died a century ago of Dragonpox, and that they were talking to her ghost.

"Well, anyway, s'cold out in the stadium. Wrap up warm," Alberta, who had been in the spectator's stands to watch Goyle practise over the past few days with fluttering lashes, advised. The girls took heed and donned their thick, hooded winter cloaks, making them all look remarkably like Bellatrix.

"We'll see you in the common room," Maurice tittered, waving at the only half-dressed Narcissa and leading the girls from the dormitory.

She watched them depart and sighed. Seventeen. Being seventeen struck her as odd. Narcissa did not like the concept of it. Neither sixteen nor eighteen, but somewhere annoyingly in the middle. Not here nor there. And she was a whole year older, but she did not feel it. She sighed again, wishing she could crawl back in bed and not have to endure the day of people wishing it was happy for her, or the presents she would have to accept and smile sweetly at the benefactor for. The novelty of birthdays began to wear off after the first fourteen years or so. It was annoying.

Since she figured she would be watching the match instead of trying to catch anyone's eye, she thought that comfortable clothing would be her best bet. She slipped into jeans and a jumper, searching for a pair of her heeled winter boots due to the fact that, in the quidditch stands, she was more often than not too short to see over the heads of taller people in front without them. While she was rooting around in her trunk, however, there was a soft clearing of a throat behind her.

Surprised, Narcissa jumped and span on heel, feeling very empty-handed without her wand which currently resided on her bedside table. She breathed heavily but soon regained her composure.

"Andy," she hissed, her heart still pounding, "didn't father teach you it's rude to sneak up on people?"

"Dad didn't manage to teach me anything, Cissy," Andromeda smiled, shrugging unconcernedly. "Happy birthday." She held out a velvet box, a deep royal blue as opposed to the usual green. Narcissa took it with quiet thanks while Andromeda looked away, one of those people who felt exceptionally awkward giving gifts in case the recipient didn't actually like it.

Inside the box was a bracelet, a simple, thin gold chain with three miniscule charms: a deep black orb with what Narcissa recognised as the Andromeda Galaxy from Andy's star charts swirling inside; another little black orb with miniscule stars held inside, which Narcissa again recognised as Orion from her sister's star charts. She noticed that the third brightest star was glowing a bright red; a tiny white orb, in which a miniature daffodil was opening and closing, petals moving in what appeared to be a gentle breeze in the sphere's little world.

"S'erm," Andromeda shrugged uneasily, "so we'll always be together, y'know. No matter what happens between you, me and Bella." Her voice was gentle, with a hint of what sounded like remorse.

Narcissa didn't want to hear her sister sound any more sombre, so she deposited the box on the end of her bed and, the chain being too long, slid the bracelet on, inspecting the tiny charms. The chain shortened to fit her little wrist of its own accord.

"It's beautiful, Andy," Narcissa breathed, and she meant it, watching the movements of the stars in the Andromeda Galaxy's orb. "Thank you."

Andromeda brightened up, taking Narcissa's wonderment and sincerity as indication that her sister really did like her gift. "I'm so glad! Erm." She paused, smile faltering for a moment. It turned into more of a knowing little curl of her lips. "It's got small Sneakoscopes in the charms. It…can tell you when someone's lying. I thought it may come in handy for you." There was a pointed manner in which Andy said this which made Narcissa very nervous. "There's a lot of untrustworthy people 'round and…sometimes you can convince yourself to trust them even when all they'll do is break you."

Narcissa glanced up from her bracelet to see Andy's smile, her dark eyes so unlike those of the other Blacks since they were alight with fondness for her little sister. Andy's hand found her sister's shoulder. "Be careful, Cissy."

_She knows something. She knows. She's been talking to Sirius._

"Yes, well," Narcissa shrugged nonchalantly, as though unaffected by Andy's speech, "perhaps you should be careful yourself. If father hears of your continued fraternisation with Gryffindors he may get Aunt Walburga to have your head and display it with the house-elves."

"I doubt our dad needs reason for that," Andy replied, rolling her eyes and taking her hand away, "though if he knew about Teddy I may be-" She paused, looking suddenly very scared, as Narcissa raised an eyebrow.

"Ah, a Freudian slip there. I'm not one of your Gryffindor buddies, remember?" she chastised, folding her arms and looking at Andy expectantly. "I don't know what you get up to outside of the common room. So, there's someone called Teddy, huh? Mudblood?"

Andromeda scowled at the term. "Wash your mouth out, Cissy," she scolded.

Narcissa smirked. "Oh, Andy, tell me you haven't."

"No, I haven't! I-" She faltered, for her words were pointless. The little orbs around Narcissa's wrist were glowing a bright red and letting off a quiet whistle, though it was unnecessary for Andy's inherited pale skin was flushing a similar colour to them. Narcissa raised an expectant eyebrow.

"Shouldn't've bought you that," Andy mumbled, looking down to the floor.

"Then I suppose we…both have secrets that neither of us shall be telling father. Or mother. Or Bellatrix. Or anyone else for that matter."

Andromeda hesitated, considering this, and nodded. "Agreed." Again, a pause. "Malfoy's dangerous, Cissy. Keep your wits about you, yeah?"

"I'm going to kill Sirius," Narcissa muttered darkly, with all sincerity.

Andromeda laughed and shrugged, pushing her chocolate-brown hair over her shoulder. "You wouldn't be the first to say that. Bella's waiting for you downstairs. I came up to see you and give you your present 'cause I didn't want to be 'round her for too long. Y'know how it is."

"Yes, I do know," Narcissa sighed, turning back to her trunk and looking over her shoulder at the sixth-year, "I'll be down in a minute. Thank you, Andy. I love it."

Andromeda smiled and bowed playfully. While Narcissa continued searching for her boots she heard her sister turn and leave, keeping the dormitory door open behind her.

It was a good twenty-five minutes still before Narcissa made her presence known in the common room. She charmed her hair into a plait, then a French plait, then braids, finally settling on keeping it loose and in soft curls which fell about her face. She changed from her jumper into another, before changing back into the one she had on originally, and went looking through her winter cloaks in order to find the most flattering yet warm one. Her efforts were often halted by stopping to admire the new jewellery around her wrist, so she was quite happy to blame Andy for the murderous glare that Bellatrix threw her when she finally entered the common room.

"What took you so long? I'm going to miss breakfast because of you," Bellatrix scolded, her eyes narrow and voice menacing. Narcissa noticed that the common room was nearly empty, for seemingly everyone had gone in search of food or to discuss the match or, indeed, to already flock to the stadium to get the best seats. Maurice was sitting in the armchair in which she had been reading the vampire volume of Witch Weekly, seemingly so long ago now, watching Narcissa expectantly.

Narcissa rolled her eyes and looked into the corner of the room, where Severus met her eyes and mouthed a happy birthday. She smiled in thanks, but it didn't last long. "Sorry," she muttered to her sister's coldness, seating herself in her armchair by the fire and draping the winter cloak she had finally picked out on the arm of the chair. Andromeda was sitting on the floor in the opposite corner to Severus, nose buried in an astronomy book.

"Here, happy birthday," Bella lilted when Narcissa sat down, suddenly smiling. Not bothering to worry about the sudden change in mood, Narcissa took the tiny jewellery box that Bellatrix presented to her with the traditional quiet thanks. She noted that it was a very deep green, and in the corner was a little brown drop of something which, when it was fresh, Narcissa would guess was bright red.

She hesitantly lifted the lid, peering beneath when it was open just enough to see a fraction of the dark silk inside. More confident that there was nothing too immediately life-threatening in the little box, Narcissa fully opened it.

Inside was a golden ring. The band was comprised of two entwining snakes, their bodies caught in an endless spiral. Their heads met in the middle of the ring, on either side of an overly large jewel which looked remarkably like an emerald. On close inspection, when Narcissa lifted the ring from the box, she noticed two tiny hinges on the side of the emerald.

"It's hollow and lifts up, yes," Bella answered matter-of-factly to the question Narcissa didn't have chance to ask, "for putting poison in it, so you can kill efficiently and secretly." She seemed immensely pleased with herself. "I took the liberty of putting some in there already for you."

_Ah, so it is still life-threatening, of course,_ Narcissa intoned, but still slipped the ring on the middle finger of her left hand. It was rather pretty, despite the fact she'd be immediately expelled if anyone discovered the contents. She placed the presentation box on the arm of the chair and glanced up to thank Bellatrix again, finding herself too busy in having to stifle a laugh at the scandalised way in which Maurice was staring at Bella to speak.

"And this arrived earlier. Noctua brought it," Bellatrix continued, handing Narcissa a large, flat box wrapped in brown parchment. How Noctua, the aging dark-feathered barn owl which served the Black family, managed to haul such a large package by himself was beyond Narcissa, but she pulled the string away from the package eagerly. Inside was a flimsy white cardboard box, embellished with the golden words 'Myriage & Sariana's' in curled, elaborate writing, and a small piece of parchment. Narcissa recognised the handwriting of the message at once as her mother's.

_Happy birthday, Narcissa. Seventeen already. How time flies._

_Give my regards to your sisters._

_With best wishes from your father and I,_

_Druella_

Having never discovered why her mother always signed the letters to her children by name, Narcissa set the brief letter aside and opened the box.

Nestled in the protective sheets of dark tissue paper was a dress of black satin, tinted with green in the firelight, though Narcissa didn't know if that was because of the green flames or a shimmer in the material. Due to the name of the establishment from which it was purchased and the quality, the material feeling like liquid as she trailed her fingers over the garment, she could hazard an accurate guess that it was Elven-made. It was embellished with emeralds over the shoulders and neck line, which she noted was a sweetheart. She delicately picked it up by the shoulders and lifted it from the box. It was long, and, as she stood and held it against her, fell to the tops of her knees. Underneath the satin were lacy underskirts, giving the dress more shape and volume. The back, she noticed, was corseted with thick black ribbon, mainly for show though it could also be pulled tighter to enhance the trimness of the wearer's waist and their bust in the sweetheart neckline.

"Well, mummy and daddy sure did go all out," Bellatrix purred mockingly, watching Narcissa admire the dress. She tried to reply but could not, for her lips had parted at its beauty and she couldn't seem to find a way to cure her mutism. Maurice was staring at the dress in a similar manner, and Narcissa was surprised her eyes weren't literally green. From over in the corner, even Andromeda was looking at the dress with interest.

There was a warm bubble inside her which had grown to extreme proportions. Never had her parents bought her something more lavish. It was an indication that they accepted her becoming a woman, an indication to her that she _was _becoming a woman. She had not felt so warm, so elated, since before she incident in the teacher's bathroom, perhaps when she had first been kissed by Professor Malfoy, that first brush of his lips on hers, his hand in her ha-

"Well well, isn't that nice?" said a voice pleasantly from behind her. Narcissa, who was very happy lost in the world of a number of bubbles swelling in her chest, felt them burst very quickly. She snarled and turned to see the intruder, the shoulders of the dress becoming bunched up as little fists formed.

Tobias was there, holding out a box to her. He had not wrapped it, so she could see that inside there were Honeydukes' champagne truffles, with just a little bow in the corner to suggest they were nothing more than a birthday gift. "Happy birthday," he smiled, again clearly in what he hoped would be dazzling.

Narcissa moved away from him soundlessly, face like thunder. She delicately folded the dress up and placed it back within the tissue paper, replacing the lid on the box and putting it on the floor. "Shouldn't you be in the changing rooms?" she asked Tobias curtly, sitting back down in her armchair. She was positively furious that she had been dragged from her euphoric reverie, though she was also quite thankful for she hated Professor Malfoy. _Hated _him. But then, again, she was furious for being thankful to a lowlife like Crowley.

"I should. Malfoy will no doubt have my head. But." He shrugged, still holding out the box. "I wanted to wish you a happy birthday." There was an awkward pause. Narcissa noticed that Bellatix was glaring darkly at Crowley's back, making her feel more secure. "Will you be watching the match today?"

"Maybe, Tobias," she shrugged half-heartedly, looking into the fire in a clear attempt to be rid of him. She soon found her eyes returning unsurely to the box of truffles however, for they were her favourite. It was a nice gesture, was it not? And to decline them would be rude, would it not? Especially when he was still holding them out to her, smiling in that toothy way.

She snatched the box from his hand, placed it on top of the box containing her dress and nodded tersely. "Thank you," she muttered, more out of politeness than any amiability or sincerity.

It seemed to be enough for Crowley, for he smiled wider and inclined his head. "I'll see you later then," he said, before turning, losing his smile at Bellatrix's expression, and quickly shuffling from the common room.

"Why don't you like Tobias, Cissa?" Maurice inquired placidly as the portrait swung shut behind Crowley, "He's not bad looking, after all."

Narcissa immediately leant down when she was sure Crowley had left them and ripped the little bow off the box of chocolates, throwing it into the fire. "Because I'd like someone with more intelligence than a mentally challenged mandrake," Narcissa retorted, watching the tacky plastic bow being consumed by the flames. "Who told him about me liking champagne truffles?" She looked accusingly at Maurice, who raised the palms of her hands to Narcissa.

"He asked. What was I supposed to do, lie?"

Narcissa held back a snort, for it would be most unladylike. She sighed instead, picking up the screwed up brown parchment packaging, string and her mother's tiny letter and threw it all into the fire. It flared up for a moment, before jovially beginning to eat away at the parchment. "Well, I suppose I should put all of this upstairs," she murmured, more to herself than anyone else. She thanked Bellatrix again, only to find her sister staring intently with wide eyes at the fire, smiling slightly with her head tilted as though watching paper blacken and disintegrate was the most entertaining thing she could ever think of.

She cleared her throat, but still Bella did not look around. Ignoring Maurice's expression of steadily growing worry for the oldest Black's sanity, Narcissa rose from her armchair, gathered up her boxes in her arms with the little poison-ring presentation box on top and made her way back to ascend the stairs to the girls' dormitories.

She set the boxes on the end of her bed when she reached it, and proceeded to put them away in what would soon be known as their respective places. She took her wand from up her sleeve, tapped the drawer of her bedside table and shoved the box of chocolates inside. They would be kept there because one, they were from Crowley and she didn't want to look at them and two, she would eat them only when she really _needed_ them. She could not allow herself to be dragged into temptation when she usually confined herself to just a croissant and a salad a day. Her husband would be grateful for it when she married.

She removed the poison-ring and placed it back in the presentation box, placing it also in the drawer. Pretty as it was, she would not allow herself to be expelled for it. Narcissa closed the drawer and locked it.

She was about to move back over to the white box on the end of her bed which contained the dress which she knew that once she got into she would never want to get back out of, when she was stopped by a dark shape suddenly darting into the room through the open door. She leapt away with a scream as it cannoned towards her. Her heart jumped into her throat, her head coming up with every monstrous possibility that it could be in the split-seconds it took her to work out that it was a large eagle-owl, and was currently staring at her curiously from in the middle of her bed.

Narcissa irritably wiped the promises of tears which stung the corners of her eyes at the fright, her heart still pounding. She cautiously approached the bed, as though the owl may still rear up and smite her yet. She found she could approach with no further obstacle, however, and sat on the edge of the bed, looking at the owl with wide eyes.

It was large, feathers ruffled and demeanour haughty. It was staring at her as though asking what her problem was, could she just take the package off already, for indeed there was a package tied around the bird's leg. She very delicately untied the package from the owl, and it hooted dolefully. She quietly thanked the bird, and stroked the mane of brown around its head, running her finger up the two fans of brown above its eyes.

At first it looked reproachful, confused almost, until it seemed to decide that the feel of her fingers moving down the line of feathers which covered its back was pleasurable. It hooted again, more contently this time, and nibbled the side of her thumb both ruefully, as though to apologise for scaring her, and affectionately. It then spread its great wings, flapped them and soared back out of the dormitory.

The package from the owl was long but thin, quite weighty as she tested it in her hand. She ripped off the brown parchment in a flourish, exposing yet another velvet box. This one was white and around it was a ribbon which was tied in a perfect bow in the centre. Underneath the ribbon, securely in place, was a folded up piece of parchment. Quite regretful to have to pull the ribbon from around the box to look into it, Narcissa slid the parchment away from the box and unfolded it. She felt a tiny bubble like the ones Crowley had destroyed form in her chest, the little butterflies returning to her stomach.

The writing was small, but unmistakable. She had watched Professor Malfoy writing when he issued her first detention of the year, after all, and had pretty much memorised the style of his every letter. The letters on the parchment were so flawlessly formed that she was sure he had written and rewritten these words a hundred times, as though to make sure they were the right ones. She imagined his office full of scrunched up pieces of parchment, each with a different message which didn't quite convey what he wanted, his brow furrowed in deliberation and frustration.

A soft smile blessed her complexion as she thought of this, the bubble growing larger in her chest, and reread the parchment.

_I did not mean it. I have never risked so much for anything._

_Happy birthday._

_L.M._

In her elation, she had almost forgotten the rectangular box on her bed, and only remembered it on her sixth or seventh reading of the little note, moving back on the four-poster to get more comfortable. She jumped at the feeling of the velvet moving against her thigh through her jeans, and for a second could have sworn Professor Malfoy was in the room with her, behind her, stroking his hand up her bare skin.

She shivered and tried to suppress the feeling of disappointment at the realisation that he wasn't there, and remorsefully pulled the ribbon from around the box. She noticed, as the bow collapsed, that it was exactly like the ribbons that Professor Malfoy wore in his hair when tying it back. Unable to stop herself, Narcissa held it in her palm, raised it to her nose, closed her eyes and breathed in. It smelt of him. Biting her lip, she let the ribbon fall onto her bed and opened the white box.

Inside the box was more white, silken and padded for safety. It contrasted exceptionally with the item inside. Line upon line of black freshwater pearls, tinted with the same deep green as her dress, gleamed up at her from their confines of the white presentation box. She found her lips had parted in amazement, and very gently pulled the item out of its box.

It was an opera necklace, possibly the longest she had ever seen. If she unclasped it and held one end at the top of her head, the other end would easily reach the floor. It was symmetrical, the pearls near the clasp being the smallest, becoming gradually bigger, until the ones in the middle of the necklace were the size of spherical sickles. She inspected each pearl in turn. Each was flawless, unblemished, the sign of a true master. With a pang, she looked hurriedly at the clasp. Indeed she spotted the mark of Goblin craftsmanship, a miniscule indent of a dragon, the same as on a galleon, in the solid silver. The initials of the Goblin maker, R.B. were stamped in proudly next to the dragon.

_It must have cost a fortune. _

How clever. It didn't look that expensive, and was exactly the kind of thing that Narcissa would own. She could wear it without attracting attention.

Her admiration was cut short, for she heard someone ascending the stairs to the dormitory, shouting her name. She hurriedly tapped her wand against the bedside drawer, wrenched it open and deposited the necklace, box and letter inside. She paused in putting the ribbon inside, fighting the urge to breathe it in again, but managed to resist, shoved it inside and slammed the drawer shut just as Maurice looked around the door frame, clearly concerned.

"What was that all about? That owl, your scream," she wondered to Narcissa, narrowing her eyes.

"Lovely to know how long it took for you to come and see if I was okay," Narcissa retorted. She shrugged. "It was a letter from school. Saying happy birthday. I guess it was from Professor Dumbledore."

Maurice sniffed. "I don't get one of them," she muttered conceitedly, not even thinking to question Narcissa. Thanking Merlin for Maurice's parents having unprotected sex nine months before some sort of holiday, Narcissa shrugged.

"Yes, well," she replied airily, "we should make our way to the stadium. All the good seats will be gone."

Maurice nodded once and turned to leave. Narcissa slipped her wand back up her sleeve and stared at the box containing her brand new dress. She didn't like quidditch, therefore she didn't want to go to watch it. She had bigger and better things to be doing.

She was formulating a plan. How well it would work out was all down to chance, but she would find out fairly soon.

* * *

><p>She felt very stupid, standing in front of a very large and very blank expanse of dark wall. Narcissa stared at it as though hoping it would give her some clue, but it did not, just stayed silent.<p>

She looked left and right, pulling the hood of her cloak up further to better hide her face. Were she to be found she would have a lot of explaining to do. With any luck, however, it would be worth it.

Steeling herself, she rapped her wand against the wall and murmured the incantation, "_Cubiculum Revelio." _For a moment, nothing at all happened, and she felt both very let down and very silly. Then, as if out of nowhere, the wall seemed to become liquid, bubbling and swirling, forming a heavy wooden door in front of her.

_Well, of course I knew it would work, _Narcissa thought smugly, again looking this way and that. She placed her hand on the doorknob and, for a moment, was struck with the feeling of tribulation. What was she doing? Up until that moment, everything seemed to have just fallen into place, and her plan had worked perfectly. Now at the last hurdle, what was she doing? What was she _going _to do?

_I've come this far. I'm not giving up now._ The innate Black stubbornness, combined with innate woman stubbornness, reinforced her nerves and hardened her resolve. Holding her breath, she pushed the door open.

On first glance, she thought the room was devoid of life. Her eyes widened; even if it was devoid of life, she would have stayed inside it to simply stare at it for longer.

The ceiling was ridiculously high, the walls stretching upwards and meeting with an apex of stone. In the stone was carved numerous exquisite shapes, mostly snakes captured forever in the cold granite, hissing down at the occupants of the room. Most of the furnishings in the room were made of polished dark wood, giving the entirety an aura of sophistication and luxury. A four-poster king-sized bed dominated the spacious room, its headboard pushed up against the middle of the wall to her right. The sheets were a deep green, matching the thick drapes, seemingly some kind of silk-like material which still looked warm and cosy. The top left corner of the sheets was folded back on itself in a triangle. Beside it was a bedside-table not unlike her own, upon it a book and upon that a pair of glasses. Beside the book was a paraffin lamp, unlit. On the side opposite the bedside table there was an open door, presumably to an en-suite bathroom.

Over against the southern wall was a huge, grand wardrobe, no doubt full of the fineries which she was so used to Professor Malfoy wearing, and beside it she was surprised to see a window. She had never seen one in the dungeons, and it gave her an indication of exactly how high the room was. Against the wall opposite the bed, taking up most of the wall, was an expansive liquor cabinet. Her eyes flicked over the bottles, an eyebrow raising at the amount of firewhiskey and her gaze lingering on the bottles of white wine. Further along was a bright green fire, newly stoked and tended to, and in front of it a large leather armchair in, surprisingly enough, dark green. Beside it was a round table, and leaning on the arm of the chair was Professor Malfoy's trademark cane.

_I've done it. I've found a teacher's bedroom. I found Professor _Malfoy's _bedro-_

"May I help you?" inquired a silky voice.

Narcissa jumped, for a moment having forgotten that, yes, it was Professor Malfoy's room when she was thinking about just that. She turned to look at him, in the doorway to the en-suite. He was in a thick winter cloak, his hands clad in leather gloves and his hair tied back into a ribbon with not a strand out of place. She soon regained her composure. "Hello, Professor," she said aphoristically, inclining her head in acknowledgement. She closed the door behind her, and heard a soft shifting as, out in the corridor, the door became a dark stone wall once again.

"You know my password for the bathroom, you know how to get into my room." Professor Malfoy shook his head, as though scolding her, but his tone was one of mild amusement. "Is there anything you don't know?"

"Quite a few things actually, yes," Narcissa nodded, lowering the hood of her cloak.

Professor Malfoy seemed to raise his head as though in approval at her hair, in the soft ringlets which cascaded around her face. "Then perhaps I may enlighten you. Although you should make this quick, the quidditch match will be beginning soon."

"A perfect time. We will not be disturbed." Narcissa smiled sweetly, shrugging.

"Will you not be expected by your friends?"

Narcissa let out a derisive laugh. "Friends? More fair-weather acquaintances, I'd say. But no. I made my excuses."

Professor Malfoy looked quite curious. "Perhaps it is I who should be enlightened then. I'm afraid I can offer you nowhere to sit except my chair."

Narcissa did not look too unhappy at this. On the contrary, she sauntered over to the chair and fell into the plush leather, reclining and making herself immediately at home. Unsurprisingly, it smelt remarkably of Professor Malfoy. She was careful to breathe in deeply.

"May I offer you some wine?" Professor Malfoy inquired respectfully,

Narcissa looked up from his seat to see the man proffering his hand towards the liquor cabinet. "Should you be asking? I'm not old enough, Sir."

"Is that to say you have never had any?"

Narcissa considered this for a moment. "White," she decided aloud. "Thank you."

Being a gentleman, once Professor Malfoy had poured one small glass of white wine and one of red, he joined her in sitting, for it is improper to hold a conversation at different levels. He lowered himself onto the pouffe opposite Narcissa, passing her desired drink and watching her expectantly. "You look most pleased with yourself. I can only assume it has to do with how you got here, so would you care to tell me?"

Oh she was only too happy to. "Well, you see, Professor, I have never really taken an interest in quidditch, and did not really want to see today's match in the first place. Your…rather thoughtful gift this morning made me realise that I'd rather be in my brand new dress and jewellery, as opposed to freezing my…_extremities_ off out there in the stands, surrounded by sweaty raucous people and cheering for people I don't even pretend to like.

"So, I came up with a rather quick but effective plan. You know my skill at Charms, do you not? Well, yes, I'm quite good at hexes too. My fellow dormitory occupants had given me a book of a thousand hexes earlier today, so I had a quick flick through and stopped on _Morbus precorabilis. _Are you familiar with it?"

Professor Malfoy's brow furrowed, staring at Narcissa incredulously while she took a sip of her wine. It was somewhat sweet, but not too sweet. High quality. She rather liked it. "You didn't, surely."

She smiled. "Oh, I did, Sir. While I was making my way out of the common room with Maurice and my sisters, we were greeted by a crowd in the Entrance Hall. It was brilliant. I cast the hex a few times and…well. Let's just say Filch has his work cut out for him with that Muggle mop. It was so crowded that no one could ever know who it was. The sudden bout of sickness, and the uproar, gave me chance to escape back to the common room and up to my dormitory. I changed and, well." She slowly lifted her arms, as though presenting herself. "Here I am."

"So I see," agreed Professor Malfoy. Again, he sounded almost entertained. His elbows were on his knees and his fingers were knitted together, watching her contemplatively as he drank his own red wine considerably faster than her. "Though it still doesn't answer exactly how you found my room."

"Oh, that's easy," tittered Narcissa, dismissively waving her hand, "Remember that week in which you thought Crowley and I were...Yes." She cleared her throat at Professor Malfoy's suddenly very dark expression. "Well, I followed you maybe more than I let on. I heard the incantation to get into your room."

He smirked. "There are so many detentions which could be given out in those few minutes of speaking, Miss Black."

"There's also so many sentences in Azkaban which could be given out in the past few months, Professor Malfoy."

He considered this for a moment. "Touché," he conceded, almost humbly.

"Now, your gift was lovely," she admitted, looking down at her shoulder before glancing back to him, "but that was just an apology for what happened in the bathroom." Her expression was shy, innocent. Either way, it seemed to have an effect on Professor Malfoy, for the crease in his brow completely disappeared, as though he were looking at something of such purity that any intender thoughts may taint it. "Now, I want a gift for today."

He raised his eyebrow at her, and Narcissa could practically see the cogs of his mind turning despite how deep they were in the gutter. "And you would like what, pray tell?"

"Information." Professor Malfoy's eyes narrowed and his head tilted in confusion. "As in, there are quite a few things I don't know about you, and I would like to. As you phrased it, I would like you to enlighten me."

"Miss Black, this is very improper. I am your teacher, and I am expected out in the stands to watch my house team play."

Her eyes narrowed. She resisted the urge to fold her arms defiantly. "So is giving me alcohol, Sir. If you would rather I carry on hating you then fine; leave now to go to your precious _team_." She ignored the fact that, with the sarcasm drenching her voice, she sounded like Bellatrix.

Professor Malfoy seemed to deliberate this for a further minute or so. Upon realising that this would not help his case anyway, he sighed. "Fine. What is it you want me to do?"

Narcissa brightened up considerably and placed her half-empty glass on the round table beside his chair. She lifted herself from the chair to stand, turning the palm of her hand to it and looking expectantly at Professor Malfoy. He hesitated but took the hint and rose, turning to seat himself in his armchair. He placed his emptier glass on the table beside hers.

Biting her lip, Narcissa took a deep breath and worked her fingers on the clasps of her hooded winter cloak. One. Two. Three. She looked intently into Professor Malfoy's silvery eyes and parted the cloak, bringing it delicately over her shoulders and allowing it to slide down her arms, landing in a crumpled heap on the floor.

The look he fixed upon her was well worth the difficulty it had taken to get her into his room. His hands gripped the arms of the chair hard. His gaze, as he roamed his eyes over her but tried to stay looking into her eyes, was one of hunger, of a desperation which he tried so hard to conceal.

She was wearing the fitted, corseted dress which she had received that day. Naturally, her mother had bought Narcissa so many dresses that it fit perfectly, accentuating her every curve; the sweetheart neckline exaggerating the fullness of her breasts, the dark ribbon at the back of the dress pulled tight to emphasise the smallness of her waist. It was her traditional style of dressing, and she felt comfortable in it. She was wearing black shoes with small heels, giving prominence to her slim, shaven and pale legs. Accompanying the dress perfectly was the opera-length black pearl necklace, the orbs tinged with the dark green, wrapped once tightly around her neck with the rest hanging loosely down her torso. Around her wrist was her sister's bracelet.

"Miss Black," Professor Malfoy began, and Narcissa could tell that he had to fight to hold back a stutter. Before he could continue, however, Narcissa had fought the numbness in her legs, making them feel like they were about to begin trembling, and had approached. She lowered herself into his lap, one thigh on either side of his, straddling his waist. One hand she placed on the leather chair at the side of his head, the other she held in front of his face, all fingers lowered except her index which she pressed against his lips. His mouth soon closed.

She had no idea where she was getting the knowledge or confidence to do what she was doing, or the ability to bend the man to her every whim, but the gaze he gave her was one of a starved man staring at a woman who was feeding lobster to fat cats.

"This," she explained, raising the hand at his lips so her wrist was at his eye level, "has Sneakoscopes in it. It will tell me if you are being untrustworthy, Professor." She smirked softly as he glanced at it momentarily before his eyes were pulled, like a Goblin to gold, back to her face. "Will you play?"

He looked as though he was about to say no, about to push her away and watch the quidditch match while pretending nothing had happened. She couldn't allow that. She arched her back slightly, pushing her chest towards his, her hand leaving the headrest of the chair and coming to rest instead on the back of his neck. The mere touch seemed to placate him, remove any ideas of leaving from his mind. He stared up into her eyes, and she could practically see the ice thaw as she moved her fingertips over his hairline.

"Hm, we'll start off easily. Is your name Lucius Malfoy?" she smiled, tilting her head.

His eyes narrowed and, again, he looked like he was about ready to up and leave. Narcissa brushed her nails gently over the skin at the back of his neck. He hissed slightly and half-managed to suppress a shiver.

"_Is your name Lucius Malfoy?"_ she repeated pointedly, gritting her teeth.

"Yes," he sighed, finally conceding into playing her game. She smiled brightly again, content now. Her bracelet remained its normal colours.

"We'll just test it's not faulty. Say yes. Are you a woman?"

He raised an eyebrow at her. When he didn't answer after a few seconds, she looked at him pointedly. He let out a slightly exasperated exhalation, but replied with a dull, "Yes." The charms on the bracelet glowed a bright red and whistled softly.

Narcissa was pleased with the results of the experiment. "Hm. Are you a natural blond?"

He smirked. "Yes." The charms lost their glow and fell silent.

"Are you married?"

A slight pause. "No." The bracelet remained quiet and without the red light.

"Do you have children?"

"No."

She hesitated. She had been hearing rumours recently, though she didn't tend to read the Daily Prophet, about advances in that old 'dark cult' story. Frightening rumours. "Are you a Death Eater?" she blurted out.

Another – longer – pause, in which he looked quite stern. "Yes."

The bracelet remained silent. Narcissa nodded, choosing not to pursue the subject much as she wanted to. She didn't want him looking any angrier. "Do you want me?"

He opened his mouth to speak, only to close again. His expression turned to one of shock. His eyebrow raised, his eyes widened and narrowed. He clearly wasn't expecting that. There was yet another deliberating pause. "Yes."

The charms on the bracelet stayed their correct colours at his answer. Again, she was rather pleased at this. She began, again, to stroke his neck. "Do you regret the things we've done?"

He cleared his throat. "I think you should stop now, Miss Black," he murmured. She just raised an eyebrow, looking at him expectantly. He knew she wouldn't give up. He sighed. "I know I should, but I don't."

"Have you been with any other girls in Hogwarts?"

"No." The bracelet glowed a dull red. "That was a badly worded question. I had been in my own school days."

"Fine," she muttered, rolling her eyes. "Have you been with any other students while you have been teaching in Hogwarts?"

"No." The bracelet lost its red glow.

"Hm. Why me? I'm not the prettiest or smartest of the Slytherin girls."

"You are elegant, beautiful and agree with my political views. On Muggle-borns and such. You have your own perspectives of things rather than agreeing with the drivel of teachers. I find you rather charming."

"Then you agree they should be officially called Mudbloods, too?" she smirked. Professor Malfoy looked quite amused, but said nothing. "But why not Margarethe Zabini, or someone like her? She is much prettier."

Professor Malfoy scowled. "Her underwear has been up and down more times than a first-year on a broomstick," he muttered, to a playful tap on the back of the neck, as though in punishment, from Narcissa.

"You can't say things like that, Sir!"

"I have a student on my lap, I think I can do anything I wish," he reasoned.

"How crude you are, Professor."

He shrugged, lips curving into a slight smirk.

"So you want me because of my innocence and vulnerability?"

He soon lost his smirk. Even before he opened his mouth, the charms on her bracelet began to glow a very faint red. "I don't like that question."

She sighed, trying to think of more ways to interrogate him. "Is this really Goblin-made?" she ended up on, trailing her fingers delicately over the pearls around her neck.

He nodded. "Yes," he added, to assure her that he was not lying.

"Have you ever given anyone else a pearl necklace?"

There was a moment of silence. Then Professor Malfoy did something she had never seen before. His lips pursed in a futile attempt to hide his incredibly twisted smirk. The more he looked at her confused face the more twisted his smirk seemed to become, until he closed his eyes and looked downwards, unable to suppress a snort of what sounded like mirth. He was very nearly laughing.

"What?" she demanded, and he let out a choked sound which he tried to hide behind a cough.

"Nothing, Miss Black," he smirked, bringing his head back up. Her bracelet glowed a bright red.

"I don't believe you," she snarled.

Professor Malfoy shrugged. "I'll tell you when you're older," he smirked, finally taking his right arm from the arm of the chair, wrapping it around her waist and pulling her closer.

"You won't know me when I'm older!" Narcissa protested. She noticed something pass across Professor Malfoy's face. Realisation? Some form of sadness? It was gone as soon as it had come, his face his usual stoic mask.  
>"Well, then you'll never find out, I suppose," Professor Malfoy shrugged. He had lost his smirk, and his voice was now low, somewhat sober. "I have taught you quite enough things you should not have known until your wedding night."<p>

"Well then, one more thing can't hurt," Narcissa suggested hopefully. She hated not knowing things, and for Professor Malfoy to be hiding information from her seemed almost an insult. "You're meant to be a teacher, so teach me things."

He stared at her flatly, though there was still just a hint of amusement in his eyes, the minute curl of his lips which she would have never noticed had she not been so close to him. In fact, the curl seemed to be getting closer in proximity, his face closer, she could count his eye lashes. She didn't even notice his hand had moved from her waist to her back, and it was pushing her nearer to him, until their lips met.

She immediately melted, succumbing to his lips as easily as a wand in the hand of the wizard it has chosen. Oh, how she had missed the scent of his aftershave, the feeling of his skin almost on hers as his hands brushed up the corseted back of her dress.

She protested weakly, attempting to pull away from the kiss. "No, no, you will not distract me from this," she insisted, but before she could even convince herself of that her arms were around his neck and she was kissing him deeply, letting out tiny noises of contentment against his lips.

Professor Malfoy's right hand remained at her back, his fingers following the thick ribbon down to her waist, while his left hand was in her hair, holding her head close to his. He pulled the bow at her waist undone, and she let out a soft moan of encouragement against his lips. Both hands moved to her back as he parted the dress, tugging the ribbon free completely and discarding it to roam his hands over her exposed skin.

She bit her lip and arched her spine at the feeling of the cold leather of his gloves on her skin, her breasts pushing into his chest. He smirked, leaning in to kiss her neck, sucking at the hollow at the base of her throat. His hands found the shoulders of her dress and pulled them down. Narcissa soon complied, unwrapping her arms from around his neck to let him pull the dress down, exposing her pert and bare breasts, for no bra was needed in the corseted constraint of the dress. There were tiny bruises over her ribs where she had tightened the dress so much that the bones had dug into her.

"You don't need this, now," Professor Malfoy whispered against her throat, stroking his hand down her naked arm and slipping the bracelet off her wrist. Narcissa was going to question him as he placed it on the table, but he was sucking hard at her neck, and she was too busy pressing closer to him to think of anything more.

Professor Malfoy pushed her dress down to her navel and kissed down her neck, gently brushing his leather-clad hands up her sides and over her ribs. He followed the line of pearls around her neck down her chest, lifting her slightly to do so gracefully and without hunching. It seemed he was intent on driving her insane, for so gently caressed her ribs, so languidly flicked his tongue out against her already hardened nipples, so delicately grazed his teeth over them to prompt a deep moan from her.

Narcissa's hands found her professor's neck again, one laying on the back of it and the other pulling the ribbon from his hair, allowing the sheets of platinum to fall around his shoulders. She gripped a handful of the hair, hard, tugging as he continued to _taunt _her so. Narcissa could feel that she was wet already. Her legs were still parted as she straddled Professor Malfoy's lap, so she felt her underwear become increasingly more soaked as she was unable to keep the indication of her want inside of her. She was growing desperate, yet he was still teasing, kissing her breasts so chastely no matter what noises she made, or how hard she pulled on the roots of his hair.

"Professor," she moaned as he returned to her neck, his fingers cupping and teasing her breasts.

"Yes, Miss Black?" he inquired against her neck as he sucked her pulse, as though she had just raised her hand in class.

She let out a soft, adamant noise, running her nails over the back of his neck, hard. He groaned against her neck, his hands suddenly tightening on her tender breasts. "Please," she whispered, leaning into him, desperate for contact, for his naked body against hers.

"Please what?" he replied in the same tone, as he would speak to her in class if she was being particularly interesting.

She let out a deep groan somewhere in between irritation and lust, trying to lower her hips, to rub her aching cunt against his crotch. The many layers of her dress got in the way, and she moaned again in frustration. "Please, Professor. Please," she gasped wantonly, burying her face in his neck to hide her deep and shameful blush, tugging his hair desperately and tightening her legs on either side of his, "I want you. I need you. Take me, oh Merlin, please."

His hands immediately moved down to hold her thighs tightly to him. Narcissa felt him begin to rise from the chair, lifting her slender form with him, and she tightened her hold around his shoulders, her trembling legs locking around his hips. She kissed his neck as they moved, scratching deep marks into the back as punishment for his teasing, until she felt herself being lowered. For a moment he thought he was going to drop her, and clung desperately to his winter cloak, until she felt the soft sheets of his bed beneath her.

Narcissa untwined her limbs from around her professor's toned body, watching as he achingly slowly shed himself of his cloak, letting it fall in a pile on the floor. His waistcoat and shirt followed. "You will not mention Merlin, or any form of deity in this room," he murmured commandingly, eyes dark with his need for her. She had to admire his control. "Only my name will come from your lips. Do I make myself clear?" he demanded, deliberately undoing each button one at a time, causing Narcissa to writhe on the bed, fisting the sheets. She nodded, biting her lip, desperate to resist the burning in between her legs but being unable to. She needed him inside her to be cured of her terrible infliction.

Eventually, his shirt had been thrown down with the cloak. Too busy watching the pale smoothness of his chest appear before her eyes, Narcissa was unaware that he had kicked off his shoes but was grateful for it when he joined her on the bed, _finally, _stroking his still-gloved hand up her leg. He began at her shoe, at the heel, stoking his fingers up her lower leg, then to her inner thigh, beneath the many skirts of her dress, higher and higher. She felt his fingers push against her underwear and found she was unable to stop herself crying out as he languidly brushed her clitoris through the material. She tried to push downwards onto his fingers, desperate for more contact, but he brought his hand away.

"Professor," she moaned needily, all dignity disregarded at the waves of lust which were crashing inside her at his ministrations; he was the moon to her ocean of desire, and her tides were controlled by he and he alone. Smirking, Professor Malfoy gripped the skirts of her dress and pulled them down over Narcissa's legs smoothly, admiring the dress for just a moment before discarding it with his clothes.

He spread Narcissa's legs, moving in between them and supporting himself above her. Admiring her body, dressed only in his pearls and her heeled shoes, he stroked his gloved hand between her legs, through her lacy underwear, leisurely enough to make her buck involuntarily for more. Narcissa's legs tensed and one arm wrapped around his shoulders, the other hand reaching down to his crotch. She stroked her hand over her professor's defined erection, pressing into his trousers in clear need for release, to a soft hiss from above her. She stared solidly into his eyes, stroking his cock through the material in the same rhythm of his fingers tracing her heated cunt.

He leant down and took her mouth passionately as they continued to taunt one another, seeing who would break first. She kissed him back just as hotly, her nails digging into his shoulder blade and her hand working at the zip on his trousers. She released it, and the button, and pushed his trousers down at least to a lower point down his thighs, stroking now only through his silken boxers.

Professor Malfoy retaliated, pushing her thin, lacy underwear aside to stoke quick little circles against her bare clitoris with the cool leather. She moaned into his mouth and pushed her hips down, desperate for more, harder, contact. He complied, rubbing more firmly, quicker.

When he slipped a finger inside her, having still not removed his gloves, she let out a noise of surprise but most certainly not of protest. It was strange to feel the leather inside of her, warm now from the needy heat radiating from her womanhood, but undeniably enjoyable when she felt his fingertips press against _that _spot. She let out a choked moan, eyes clenching shut as a second finger was inserted into her tightness, pushing and rubbing against the denseness inside her which only he seemed to be able to find.

"P-please, Professor," she whimpered at Professor Malfoy's continued slowness. She took her hand from his crotch, unable to resist the pleasure enough to concentrate on anything but that. Both of her arms wrapped around his sinewy shoulders, digging into the skin hard as she moaned and bucked, letting out a string of broken pleas as he picked up the pace of his fingers, pushing harder into that spot, moving his digits back and forwards into her tightness to add intensity, his hot breath on her cheek. She met his mouth as he pushed his fingers harder, faster into her, his thumb forming quick circles on her clitoris. She moaned urgently into his mouth, clenching her eyes shut, on the brink of abyss. The feeling within her was so intense that it brought tears to her eyes, like a coiled snake in her womanhood, tense and ready to strike, to devour, to poison her.

When she came, she felt as though her whole world shattered. She arched her back, pressing that spot hard into his fingers as she quivered and jerked her hips in involuntary paroxysm. Her nails dragged along his shoulders, leaving deep red marks which broke skin here and there, and it was only when the shudders began to subside that she realised the sound she was emitting was somewhere between a scream and a moan. Her forehead was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, the backs of her knees moist and her cunt dripping with wetness.

When Narcissa's eyes finally fluttered open, she stared up in an attempt to meet his but could not find them, for he was on his knees between her legs. She watched, biting her lip, as he ran his tongue up the index finger of the glove that was in her only moments before. She swore she could have come all over again. He did not continue, however, for he removed the gloves quickly, discarded them and pushed his trousers further down his legs. His underwear finally joined them and Narcissa could not help but moan at the sight of his member, thick and dark and ready due to the pleas and moans which went straight to it.

Narcissa wrapped her legs tightly around Professor Malfoy's hips as he lowered himself on top of her, arms on the bed at either side of her to stop himself from leaning too much of his weight on her petite form. His lips, again, passionately found hers as her arms wrapped back around his shoulders. She moaned softly, nails digging into his back and pulling, encouragement for him to begin. He didn't need much more prompting.

As always, when he pushed his tip into her tightness he was slow. She was getting more accustomed to him, yes, but he still had to be gradual, which Narcissa was thankful for. He slowly pushed his hips upwards, impaling her on his cock, while she gasped and dug her nails hard into his back, whimpering against his lips. Fully inside her he waited, waited for her to begin moving her hips onto his member, waited for her inner walls to grip him as invitation to continue.

It didn't take long for Narcissa to be pleading quietly again, her hips creating gentle circular motions around his cock. Taking it as a cue, Professor Malfoy pulled his hips backwards, away from her, before pushing back in, a little faster. He continued in this way, gradually building up speed, until his hips were snapping back and driving forwards into Narcissa, into that sweet spot he knew so well. She was gasping and panting, her breathing laboured as she became accustomed once again to his speed, the force of him thrusting inside her. She followed his rhythm with her hips, allowing him to dominate and control her completely. She welcomed his power, for it was undeniable in the strength of his thrusts, the deep, guttural exhalations against her neck which contrasted beautifully with her high, breathy moans, the rhythmic sounds of skin on skin joining their noises of ecstasy and creating a crescendo of desperation.

Narcissa's second orgasm took her by surprise, as it crept up on her unnoticed. So stunned was she by it, that she shouted Professor Malfoy's name, only she had lost herself so entirely that the word 'professor' seemed quite alien to her; "Lucius," she cried as she came, raking her nails up his back. It shot through her like fire, making her legs feel weightless and tremble, her body twitching and convulsing at the intensity. She heard Professor Malfoy groan deeply as her cunt tightened around his cock, but he did not allow himself to succumb.

He kept thrusting, riding out her orgasm until she was screaming incoherent words, her nails forming a spider-web of deep red marks over her professor's pale back. Maintaining the rhythm of his hips, Professor Malfoy took one arm from the bed, taking one of Narcissa's weak, quivering legs from around his waist and resting it on his forearm, doing the same with the other. He pushed her legs back towards her chest, placing his hands back on the bed and lifting his hips, angling himself lower for deeper penetration.

Feeling her professor's tip pushing rhythmically into the sensitive dense areas of her inner walls, made so much more efficient from the new position, Narcissa did not really have chance to stop crying out her overly loud moans of need. One hand left Professor Malfoy's back to fist into his hair, clutching tightly and burying his face into her neck, desperate for the closeness of his entire body. He complied, pressing his chest down into hers, and, bodies slick with sweat, picked up a pace that was faster still, less controlled, more frantic and urgent.

When Narcissa came a third time she could swear she was going to pass out. She vociferated his name again in a high-pitched scream, her voice broken from the shudders which plummeted up and down her spine. It felt so good, so blissful, that it almost hurt, and still Professor Malfoy did not stop thrusting, his breathing shallow and desperate now, pushing harder, faster, more erratically.

Narcissa breathed his forename rhythmically, eyes clenched shut, lost in the darkness with the smell of his aftershave and the sound of his breathless groans, the feeling of him deep inside her and the unmistakable smell of passion. His name began to get more and more distorted, her voice more choked with each pounding of her tightness, his lips descending on her mouth for one last dominating kiss before all was lost, and it was over.

She whimpered into Professor Malfoy's mouth, imprinting the entire experience into her mind. Her body was his, moving to the snapping of his hips, the touch of his fingertips, responding to his moans of euphoria with the wetness that lubricated his cock. She was glad it was not her first time, for if it was it would have hurt; as it was, she was in a state of frenzied delirium, somewhere hovering between a bliss only given in heaven and the delicious sins which came with a promise of being sent straight to hell. The limbo she was in she never wanted to leave, for then Professor Malfoy would have to stop tearing her apart and rebuilding her as his own, and, at that moment, the thought of that was too much to bear.

However, as it is with the world, all things must come to an end. Narcissa screamed a fourth and final orgasm into Professor Malfoy's mouth, and the clenching, tightening of her inner walls, around him finally proved to be too much for him to constrain himself anymore. With a deep cry she felt him release inside of her, recognised the familiar feeling of warmth as the hot, sticky fluid flooded her womanhood.

Professor Malfoy collapsed on top of her, shuddering just as much as she from the power of his climax, their breathing laboured and chests heaving. She found she didn't mind the weight of his body on hers, holding his body against hers, and was somewhat disappointed when she felt him roll of her, though she was too lost in her after-glow to protest. Her throat hurt from crying out and there was a deep thudding between her legs, yet all she could feel was completion.

When Narcissa finally opened her eyes and looked at her professor, trying to control her heart rate, she found him looking the most at peace she had ever seen him, despite the fact that she held a considerable number of strands of his hair in her fingers from where she had been pulling so hard in her ecstasy. Usually there was a crease at least forming between his eyebrows, but there was none. Instead he looked positively radiant, the only word to describe it being handsome.

In a gentlemanlike fashion, Professor Malfoy quickly pulled up his underwear and trousers, buttoning them, before proffering an arm to Narcissa, draping it across the pillows and looking at her expectantly. She was unsure of what to do at first, but tentatively approached, very conscious of the dull ache and soreness between her legs and deep inside her. She laid her head on his toned upper arm and he wrapped his forearm around her shoulders. Cautiously she moved close, fitting her body to the shape of his side and resting her hand on his chest. She felt safe.

"Happy birthday," Professor Malfoy said quite hoarsely after a long stint of silence.

She giggled quietly. "Thank you, Sir," she nodded, playing with the beads around her neck. "Do you think it's too late for us to watch the quidditch match now?"

Professor Malfoy seemed to consider this for a moment. "Maybe a little bit, yes," he concluded, smirking sharply. "I think this has been more productive than quidditch anyway."

"Oh, definitely, Professor," Narcissa nodded, taking one last deep, shuddering breath to return her breathing to normal. There was a pause. "You still haven't told me what's so funny about a pearl necklace."

* * *

><p><strong>Now, readers, it is nearly 5a.m. I need to stop doing this. Do forgive any mistakes, please.<strong>

**There were some spells in this chapter of my own creation. Here's a quick translation:**

_Morbus precorabilis – _to be able to invoke sickness (vomit)

_Cubiculum Revelio – _literally, 'for the bedroom to be revealed'

**Thank you for reading thus far. c:**


	10. Chapter 10

"Where _were _you today?" Maurice demanded as soon as Narcissa had entered the common room.

Admittedly, Narcissa was surprised that she'd heard Maurice. The common room was teeming with life, more so than she had seen in quite a long time. Someone had obtained quite a lot of items which Narcissa could never guess how they did so, and also quite a lot of items which _had _to be banned.

A gramophone was in the corner of the room, where Severus usually sat, though the music playing was most certainly not the classical type that she had grown up with. She had no idea what the genre was, but it was an insult to her refined ears, and she physically cringed. The room was hazy with smoke which furled up from cigarettes in the hands of students, smelling of sweet pumpkin tobacco. Drinks were flying about everywhere, quite volatile-looking ones at that and some Narcissa recognised as firewhiskey, and forcing themselves into people's hands wherever possible. She had to bat one away as it cannoned towards her. The usual chairs and tables which littered the common room had been piled up against the wall - though, thankfully, the armchairs, sofa and coffee table around the fire remained – to make room for people dancing. If that was what it could be called. Dry-humping was more accurate, and it was most certainly not dignified.

However, the force of the dungeon party as it smacked her in the face was nothing compared to the full force of the accusing glares from every direction, which made her stop in her tracks and recoil slightly.

Maurice was staring with scrutiny at her over the top of the armchair on the opposite side of the coffee table to Nacissa's usual seat, and Bellatrix was glaring through heavily-lidded eyes, drink in hand. From over by the gramophone, Crowley watched her in a very indifferent way, though she could seem to infer hint of betrayal in his placid expression. Only Andromeda and Rodolphus seemed pleased to see her, Andy smiling from around the sofa on which Bellatrix sat, where she was habiting the floor cross-legged, and Rodolphus waving from the floor at Bella's feet, presumably to get as close to the fire as possible.

"Well, hello to you too," she grumbled, undoing her thick winter cloak as she made her way to her usual armchair. When she found there was a second-year girl in it with her incredibly small and skinny boyfriend, she threateningly took out her wand and glared at them. They very quickly ran off. "Who were they?" she huffed loudly to make herself heard over the hubbub and music, taking her seat and draping her cloak over the arm of it.

"Replacements," Maurice sniffed. Narcissa noticed how Maurice roamed her eyes over her clothes, as though she wasn't expecting the jumper and jeans that Narcissa was wearing from that morning. "In case you never came back," she added to Narcissa's raised eyebrow.

She let out an exasperated sigh. "I just felt ill. You know, after all that in the Entrance Hall this morning. Did anyone find out who that was?" She congratulated herself on being such a good actress as Maurice shook her head. "Yes, well, it made me feel sick, so I decided to come back to my dormitory."

"We came back and looked for you. You weren't here," Bellatrix cut in tersely.

"Because I went to the hospital wing," Narcissa sighed, pulling her feet up onto the armchair and reclining back into it. She put her hands in her lap, pulling her legs in tightly to muffle the quiet whistle of her bracelet. "Madam Hartford told me to not watch the quidditch match, to stay in and keep warm. So I did. I went to the library."

Her story was half-right. She _had _returned to her dormitory, and she _had _gone to the library. Even if it was to change into her dress and make sure she had an alibi, respectively. Madam Pince would have documented in that sly little brain of hers if Narcissa had been there or not if Maurice were to ask, and Narcissa wouldn't put it past her to do so. After her…time with Professor Malfoy she had returned to her dormitory, changed back into her original clothes and put the dress away. It was perfect, she wouldn't be discovered. It was brilliant, fool-proof.

Or so she thought, except when presented with a special kind of idiot; "I don't think Lucius was there either, y'know," Rodolphus said contemplatively, raising his palms to the flames and rubbing them together. "I didn't see him in the stands. Mind you, it was snowing so much that he might've been. Pale bastard."

Narcissa could feel Andromeda's stare bore into the side of her head, and resisted the over-whelming urge to look around at her sister very well. She also resisted the blush which prickled behind her cheeks, lowering her head in order to do so.

"I'll just see him tomorrow during lesson. Let him know who won," Rodolphus carried on to no one in particular, though the tone of pride and fact that he suddenly picked up a shot-glass of firewhiskey, raised it as though in toast and drained it in one suggested that he was just congratulating himself anyway.

"I suppose I don't have to ask," Narcissa shrugged, waving a hand to motion the common room and still ignoring her sister's gaze, "I suspect the Gryffindors won't be celebrating like this."

"They most certainly will not!" declared Rodolphus triumphantly, allowing a bottle to soar over to him and refill his glass. "We trounced them, Cissa, trounced them. Black was amazing – Regulus, obviously. He scored about six goals in the first few minutes. Bam bam bam!" He waved his fists as though demonstrating goals. Narcissa, quite used to Rodolphus getting quite drunk during these parties as he was usually the one to get his hands on the drink, waited patiently for him to continue. "At one point, Potter was going after the snitch, but I hit a bludger his way. Got him straight in the arm." He nodded dramatically, proudly, and rose to his feet, quite clearly lost in the memory of the match. "And then, and then, Flint went and scored another seven goals or somethin', and Nott was brilliant. He saved nearly all the goals that Gryffindor threw our way, though of course they have girls on the team." He snorted. "Girls can't play quidditch, girls are weak and don't listen and" – He looked down to see Bellatrix's face. – "are fantastic and amazing at everything and man would be nothing without them."

Narcissa smirked very slightly and rolled her eyes. "And here's me thinking all of this was for my birthday. So Crowley got the snitch?"

"O'course," Rodolphus shouted, raising his glass in Tobias' direction. "Bloody brilliant, it was."

"He seemed distracted though. Tobias, I mean," Maurice continued for Rodolphus, as Bella, seemingly having not forgiven him for his comment, used her wand to sweep his feet beneath him, causing him to land in a heap on the floor. "Looked like he was expecting someone to be in the stands." The pointed look which Maurice set on Narcissa left her insinuation under no uncertain terms.

Narcissa rolled her eyes again, not looking so amused now. "It wasn't my fault I was ill," she muttered, watching Rodolphus as, under Bella's guidance, a bottle of firewhiskey was pouring into his mouth while he was bound by invisible ropes on the floor. On the contrary to Bella's intentions, he seemed to rather enjoy being nearly drowned by the strong alcohol.

"Well, maybe you should ask him to dance as an apology," Maurice suggested loftily.

Narcissa looked to the mass of grinding bodies, alcohol spilt on most of them from their frantic, uncoordinated movements. She noticed that at least two boys had their hands beneath some garment on Margarethe's body, which was some feat since she wasn't wearing much to start with. Narcissa scowled. "Not my kind of dancing," she muttered tonelessly. To imagine Crowley's hands on her in such a way made her feel sick.

_Professor Malfoy, though-_

_No no no, shut up._

"Not everyone does the waltz, Cissa," Maurice sniffed, in that way which suggested she thought herself superior to anyone and everyone.

"Is Walden in there with some other girl then?" Narcissa inquired politely, a faux smile of mild interest plastered on her lips.

Maurice glowered at her. "We had an argument," she muttered dejectedly.

"Oh, to fight with your one true love," Narcissa sighed heavily, mockingly. Bella's features twisted with a proud smirk. She flicked her wand and the bottle of firewhiskey, having spilt its contents all into Rodolphus' mouth, fell onto his head with a dull thunk.

"Just because you've never known it," Maurice snapped.

Narcissa felt as though she had been slapped. She'd rather she had been, for a moment, for then she would have known how to respond (with a very twisted hex or a very hard slap back). As it was, she had no idea what to say to that. Was it true? Had she never known it? Narcissa, again, felt Andy's furtive eyes on her from over her astronomy book, which distracted her from her thoughts, making her all the more confused.

She supposed it was true. She had never been with anyone, except Professor Malfoy and, well, that was never affection. It couldn't be. It was just a fuck. He fucked her. That was all. There was no endearment from either party, none at all.

But then why did she hate the thought of it being nothing but sex? And why, afterwards, did he hold her to him? Maybe he was just humouring her, just pretending so that she kept crawling back to him. But the little letter which resided in her bedside table drawer… Was that a lie too? Another way to get between her legs? Or was it genuine?

She stared into the fire, ignoring the gagging and spluttering of Rodolphus as he writhed around on the floor. Maurice was clearly expecting a retort, but when none came she huffed and reclined back in the chair, staring at the throng of gyrating bodies, seemingly in search for McNair. Narcissa was too lost in thought to care.

They sat in near silence for quite some time. Rodolphus, having regained the ability to move and breathe, stared longingly at the crowd beyond the sofa, clearly wanting to join in but knowing that his testicles would be detached from his body quicker than he could say _diffindo. _Narcissa had taken to watching Godwin Keyes with interest, since he was wandering around the common room trying to convince the first-years stupid enough to have not retired to bed to drink shots of firewhiskey or try a cigarette which he lit with a bright blue flame on the tip of his wand. He appeared to be quite persuasive.

As the night wore on, a lot of empty bottles were being piled up here and there around the room, and there were a lot of discarded cigarette butts lingering around. A very tipsy Walden had finally started talking to Maurice again, and he had dragged her from her chair to 'dance' with him, at which point Andy, who had been checking her watch every few minutes, decided she was going for a midnight stroll. There was no doubt in Narcissa's mind that she would be going considerably north and would end up in a bed with red sheets. Severus had sidled from his dormitory and sat beside Bellatrix at some point, murmuring something about people 'being busy' up there and he didn't want to disturb them, though how Severus could disturb anyone was a mystery to Narcissa, for he merely buried his face in the pages of '_Potions Through Time by Archibald M. W. Brewer'_. Rodolphus, at some other point, had gotten so drunk that he had passed out with a cigarette perched precariously between his lips, sitting on the floor with his head on Bellatrix's lap, and she was proceeding to pull the stubble on his chin out, hair by hair.

Narcissa knew, in the early hours of Wednesday, that she should have gone to bed as soon as she'd entered the common room. By the looks of the thinning crowd of people, most couples in Slytherin house had disappeared to bed, meaning that she was very reluctant to do so, especially since the _Glisseo _Charm Marianne had cast on the girl's dormitory stairs had been somehow surpassed and quite a few males had disappeared up them. Narcissa could see her scowling each time someone did. She guessed that, if she left it an hour or so, they'd have fallen into their drunken, spent slumbers and she'd be fine to sleep. Alone.

She sighed at the thought. To be able to sleep with someone would be nice. She enjoyed the shape her body made when she fit it to Professor Malfoy's side. She liked how she could rest her head on his shoulder, her hand on his chest, and be held like she was.

_So I want to be held by Professor Malfoy?_

_No. No, I don't._

_Yes, I do. This is why I think about him so much. I want affection from him._

_Even if I did he'd never give it._

_Well, I'm sure someone else would. Crowley, maybe._

Why yes, as a matter of fact, he _had _been looking at Narcissa for most of the night. Quite intently. Even when talking to William Nott or Margarethe, his eyes had been flicking to Narcissa, and she didn't like the intensity in his eyes one bit. She felt like he was planning something against her.

She glanced up furtively from her usual hobby of staring into the fire, in order to see if Tobias was staring at her at that moment, only to find that he wasn't there. A quick sweep of the common room informed her he wasn't among the passed out bodies or the few people still standing, so she guessed he had gone to bed. Maybe with Zabini and three or so other boys.

Rolling her eyes, Narcissa sighed and, rubbing her eyelids with the backs of her fingers, rose from her chair. She yawned and stretched out her aching limbs, having been sat with her knees pulled up to her chest for quite a few hours. "I'm going to bed," she informed Bellatrix, who was still wide awake and fixed her a very conscious stare.

"Good night, Cissy," she simpered, the sudden voice making Severus, who had dozed off with his book still somehow held up in front of his face, jolt awake. "Don't let the doxies bite."

Narcissa was careful to kick Rodolphus as she passed him to get to the girl's dormitory stairs, causing him to jerk into consciousness, inhale suddenly and nearly swallow his cigarette.

"G'night," he spluttered when Narcissa waved at him, before realising that his chin was smarting and, upon feeling the hairless, inflamed skin, set to beginning an obnoxiously loud row with Bella which could end only in either him being a pulverised mess or a few rounds of very energetic, adrenaline-filled and hate-induced sex. Or both, Narcissa would guess.

She weaved her way through the mass of unconscious bodies which littered the floor of the common room, most of which, she noticed, who looked very young. _Keyes must feel very proud of himself_, she pondered amusedly at the sight of a first year underneath a table at the side of the room, curled protectively around a near-empty firewhiskey bottle, dead to the world.

Having forced her tired, cramped legs into ascending the dormitory stairs, Narcissa sighed softly as she entered and closed the door behind her. The torches in brackets around the room were extinguished, the only light being from her bedside lamp and another, each glowing with only a single flame to penetrate the pitch-darkness. As far as she could tell, there were no activities beyond sleep happening behind the drapes which were all pulled securely around the beds, for the entire room was still and all she could hear was the soft breathing of the inhabitants, though there seemed to be a lot more than normal. For this, she was grateful.

Yawning behind her hand demurely, she slipped her wand out of her sleeve and placed it on the bedside table, falling into her ritual. Kicking off her shoes and sitting on the edge of her bed, she pulled her jumper up and over her head before unbuttoning and shedding herself of her jeans, throwing them into a pile on the floor. She stretched her aching muscles and moved her hips, testing how much it hurt between them. She had already showered quickly that day, when she got changed, so the uncomfortable feeling of dried fluids wasn't present, thank Merlin_. _There was a dull ache, but it was hurting less and less with each time, just as the pleasure was growing more and more intense. Soon she would grow a tolerance to Professor Malfoy's administrations, and he would have to work harder to please her. She smiled softly at the thought.

She paid no heed to the rhythmic breathing of the people in the dormitory, though if she did she may have found something amiss; there was no bed to the right of hers, yet there was someone in the darkness, breathing so softly it was barely audible. It was only when she had shed herself of her outer layer of clothing, and had her arms behind her back to unclasp her bra, that she heard it.

There was the sound of shifting clothing, somewhere in the darkness in front of her. She froze, listening hard and glancing over to her wand which suddenly seemed miles away. She swallowed hard for her heart was pounding in her throat somewhere. Her every nerve was suddenly on edge, innate instincts telling her that she was in some sort of danger. She eyed the darkness in front of her suspiciously, eyes flicking over to her wand as though judging the distance and how long, consequently, it would take to snatch it up and declare some sort of hex; Narcissa was poised, tensed to thrust her arm out, grab her wand and curse every inch in front of her to oblivion.

The creator of the sound, however, did not give her chance to do so. A mere shape, a shadow in the darkness, suddenly lunged forwards and descended on top of her. Narcissa tried to scream, but a hand was over her mouth before she could do so. She was pushed onto the bed, her arms trapped between her back and the sheets, with the assailant's superior weight pressing down upon her.

She had clenched her eyes shut as she was pushed down, so she couldn't see who the attacker was, but that voice of vile self-assurance, tainted with the stench of stale cigarette smoke and alcohol, was enough indication. "I've tried to be nice, _Narcissa_," the voice growled, very close to her face.

Narcissa cringed and tried to move away, writhing underneath what she was sure was the muscular form of Crowley, but his body was pressed onto hers and he was not relenting. She tried to speak, to cry for help, but her voice was muffled entirely by his hand.

"Yet you still have the audacity or stupidity to deny – nay, _reject _– my advances. Silly little bitch," Crowley continued in a hushed, harsh whisper. Narcissa opened her eyes a fraction and could see, through the terrified tears, that his teeth were gritted. He looked positively livid. His hair was dishevelled, his eyes wide and his jaw was set in a snarl which retained not even a hint of that usually so captivating smile. She suddenly felt very naked indeed, with just her underwear and socks on, with her wand so very far away. She sobbed behind his fingers.

He leant into her face as tears leaked from her eyes, brushing them away with his lips. The somewhat tender gesture contrasted vividly with the strong alcohol on his hot breath, his angry, laboured panting on her cheek. It confused her. "If you were not so fucking _virginal_, I would have you right here and now," Crowley snarled, and he pushed his hips forward. Narcissa quietly whimpered at the feeling of his erection, constrained by his trousers, pressing into her thigh. She ignored thoughts that he was not as large in any way as Professor Malfoy, for she was petrified and that was highly inappropriate for the situation. "As it is, I will have to wait. But I will have you one day, Cissa. Mark my words. _I. Will. Have. You."_

He kissed her cheek, to which Narcissa cringed and leant away from him desperately, just wanting him gone. There was a moment in which he stared down at her, scrutinizing her, before he rose and, as swiftly as he'd pounced upon her, left the dormitory.

Narcissa waited until she was sure she heard the door close, and was sure she was alone, before she rolled off her back onto her side. She pulled her legs up and hugged them in a foetal position, crying into her knees. She shock had struck quickly, and her tears were falling fast, more out of the surprise than real fear.

_See Maurice, _she snarled in the confines of her head, _that's who you think I should be with. You know nothing._ And to think, he had gotten some kind of kick out of being on top of her like that, some kind of sexual gratification for Narcissa to be trapped and beneath him, at his mercy. His arousal had not been from some extraneous factor, oh no, it had been because she was powerless to stop him. She could tell it in the way he breathed, the husky way in which he spoke in undertones behind his calculated coldness. She could tell his excitement, for it was not unlike Professor Malfoy's voice when he spoke before entering Narcissa. Only Professor Malfoy's did not sound so threatening, so disgusting.

_That bastard, _was the thought which repeated around her mind until she managed to regain enough control of her body, shuddering and wracking with silent sobs, to rise from her bed and practically throw herself into the dormitory shower, despite the time.

She couldn't scrub herself hard enough. She had never felt dirtier, not even after such forbidden acts with her professor. She could feel Crowley's body on hers no matter how hard she scoured herself. The smell of his body, sweaty from dancing that night, and his breath lingered on her no matter how much soap she used. The feeling of his arousal pressing into her inner thigh would not leave no matter how much she tried. She ended up sitting on the floor of the shower in her foetal position, embracing her legs tightly for security, the water falling upon her soaking hair.

When she eventually returned to her dormitory, Narcissa was exhausted in every way. She was jumpy, and held her towel tightly around her, in case Crowley had stalked back in at some point. Stepping tentatively back to her bed, she flicked her wand and whispered an incantation to dry her hair, and another to calm her skin where she had scrubbed it red raw. She then ripped the drapes around her bed shut, and, with her wand still in her hand, crawled under the sheets. She was naked, too exhausted to change into any form of clothing, so she clutched her wand protectively for security.

She soon realised, when she began to doze off but kept waking up with that feeling of missing a stair in the dark, her stomach plummeting beneath her unpleasantly, that it was not enough. She didn't feel safe, and her body was keeping her awake for fear of another onslaught from Crowley. Tears of frustration stung her eyes now, and Narcissa buried her face into her pillow to hide them. _The bastard._

She gripped her pillow and pulled it close to her as she curled up into her rigid ball, holding tight and allowing her tears to quietly fall. She very slowly began to feel herself not so wracked by fear anymore, however, with her pillow grasped between her slender fingers. She began to feel some sort of comfort from it, some tiny flicker of protection within the plush material. She breathed in deeply, but did not get the scent she wanted, though she knew how to get it. She opened her eyes, bit her lip slightly and slowly pulled back the drapes of her four-poster.

After a quick, sweeping check of the dormitory and deciding all was still, she tapped her wand once against her bedside table drawer and pulled it slowly open. With a pang her eyes set on the vile orange potion, and she hurriedly grabbed it, uncorked it and took a gulp. She had almost forgotten it. She held the phial up to the flame of her paraffin lamp, seeing that she was in dire need of buying more, and soon. Narcissa then replaced it and took out what she was searching for in the first place.

Looking about the room again, she pulled out the thick black ribbon which had been around the present from Professor Malfoy only yesterday, though it seemed so long ago. She lay back on her bed, twitched her drapes closed and closed her eyes. Her hand, holding the ribbon tightly, she brought up to her nose and breathed in deeply.

She effect was so instantaneous she thought that Professor Malfoy may have slipped some kind of calming draught into the material. The strange warmth which flooded Narcissa at overexposure to Professor Malfoy, or too many thoughts of him, did so then, and she felt immediately like she needed to sleep for a week. She wrapped the ribbon, which smelt so divinely of Professor Malfoy's hair and aftershave, tightly around her fingers and held her pillow at her side, moving impossibly close to it.

She kept the ribbon near her face, closing her eyes as she cuddled up to the pillow. She swore that, as she began to fall into slumber, she could feel Professor Malfoy's arm around her shoulders. She was so sure that, with her breathing, she could feel the rise and fall of his chest under her cheek as his breaths matched hers. She was sure, so very certain, that she could feel him stroke her bare shoulder, and murmur a goodnight as sleep threatened to consume them both.

"Goodnight, Lucius," she whispered into her pillow, already too lost in the bliss of darkness and the promise of sleep to realise her involuntary use of her professor's forename. It didn't matter, for in the morning she wouldn't remember anyway.

* * *

><p>Lucius was not a careless man. If anything he was pain-stakingly particular, unless something else caught his attention to direct him from the minor details. As it was, Miss Black could easily be considered one of those things which never failed to catch his notice.<p>

"You shouldn't be here," he protested, when she entered his office during the lunch hour. He had been writing rapidly, and to be interrupted by anyone during such concentration was undeniably annoying. She closed the door behind her. "It's too dangerous."

"Since when has that ailed you?" Miss Black chided, looking around his spacious office with interest. "If anything, it only seems to add to your entertainment."

He opened his mouth to protest again, but closed it again for two reasons: one, she was right; two, she was walking towards his desk in _that _way, hands on her hips which were swaying under her skirt. Her hair was straight today, with a headband of Slytherin colours keeping it back, exposing her face. She looked so radiant it was impossible for Lucius to keep writing, much as he wanted to.

Watching her intently, Lucius observed Miss Black gaze around his office with clear interest. Her stare swept across his desk and, clearly not finding much worthy of her attention on the dark wood, continued around the room. Her eyes lingered on his Pensieve in the right hand corner of the room behind him, and wandered across the assortment of items which littered the shelves on the back wall. Her eyes narrowed as she tried to recognise the oddly shaped things and whirring contraptions, but she seemed to fail for she just looked more and more confused as her eyes wandered along. The huge bookcase which took residence on the left wall of the room, from Miss Black's perspective, seemed to be of much more interest to her, for it was there that she made her way. Lucius furtively watched her hips as she moved over to it, took note of her slender forefinger as it ran up and over the spines of the books.

In an attempt to calm his libido, he returned to writing, leaving Miss Black to browse the letters etched onto the spines of the books.

There were a few minutes of near-silence, as Lucius scratched words with quill and ink, and Miss Black whispered the names of the books to herself. Some she clearly recognised, for she gave a small "Oh," of acknowledgment each time, which really didn't help him.

"You seem to be much more fresh-faced than the rest of the Slytherins," Lucius commented, in a blatant attempt to distract himself from Miss Black's soft noises by forming a conversation, still scribbling swiftly. "They all looked terrible in my lessons today."

"Well, there were celebrations late into the night, Professor," Miss Black responded distractedly, lingering over a book with no title on the side which she pulled out of its respective place on the bookcase to look over. "We did win the match, after all. Haven't you heard?"

"Yes, I did hear rumours," Lucius smirked, his eyes flicking up to set upon Miss Black only momentarily, "and Master Crowley appeared particularly-"

"Do not mention his name," Miss Black cut in stiffly, her back suddenly rigid. "I do not want to hear anything about him."

Lucius paused in his writing, looking up with something resembling concern. "Has he done something to offend you, Miss Black?" He saw her physically bristle, as though merely talking about him was causing offence.

"It doesn't matter," she replied coldly, and he knew better than to pursue the subject. If she wanted to tell him, she would. Besides, any hostility to Crowley was good, for he clearly had some interest in Miss Black and- no. No, he wasn't to care if Crowley wanted Miss Black. He wasn't to care if it was vice versa. She could be with whomever she wanted, and he would not be jealous, not one iota, simple as that.

Though, still, it still pleased Lucius to see that Miss Black clearly didn't like Master Crowley.

An awkward silence descended on the office. Lucius returned to his writing, listening to the gentle rustling of Miss Black's clothing, the soft taps her shoes made against the stone floor when she moved along the bookshelves. Then, after a few minutes; "_The Divine Comedy by Dante Alighieri," _Narcissa read aloud. Though her back was turned to Lucius, he could tell she was raising an eyebrow. "Sounds…_interesting_."

He looked up from his writing, sighing softly. "You've never heard of it, have you, Miss Black?"

Miss Black shook her head. "No, Sir. Should I have?"

"I doubt it is of little consequence. It is only one of the most monumental texts of literature, both Wizarding and Muggle, after all."

She rolled her eyes. "Alighieri was a wizard though, yes?"

"What does Cuthbert – my apologies, Professor Binns – _teach_ you in History of Magic for you not to know this?"

Miss Black shrugged. "I don't think I've ever listened in one of his lessons. If he ever mentioned an Alighieri I wouldn't know.

Lucius smirked. "You shouldn't really be saying that to a teacher. But yes, of course he was a wizard. Do you really think I would indulge in Muggle literature, Miss Black? He attended _L'Istituto Fiorentino di Istruzione Magica_ in 1272. Or," he added as Miss Black turned to fix him an incredulous stare, "The Florentine Institution of Magical Instruction. Though, of course, Muggles don't know that, so to them not much is known about his education."

"What is it about?" Narcissa mused aloud, taking the tome from its place on the shelf and staring down at the intricately designed leather cover.

"In basic terms," Lucius began patiently, returning to scribbling upon his parchment as he spoke, "it is an epic poem, and the story of Dante's travels through hell, purgatory and paradise – or heaven – while being guided by Virgil. And, in heaven, by the woman he adored, Beatrice." He heard her heave the book open and flick through some of the aged parchment pages, coughing at the dust which rose. The smell of old book filled the room. "I translated it myself," he added nonchalantly, knowing she would soon be questioning about the neatly constructed lines of his writing under each of those in Italian, "before I became a teacher and thus had far too much free time."

"I did not know you know Italian, Sir," she murmured distractedly, flicking through the book. "I also didn't know you would take an interest in religious texts. Or poetry in general, for that matter."

"There is much you do not know about me, Miss Black," he nodded. He dipped his quill in the ink pot. "And one does not need to be religious to read religious poetry. The messages in poetry can always be interpreted in any number of different ways."

"Well, this is probably why I haven't heard of it, in any case. I doubt it is on my father's reading list."

"Hm, well you may borrow it, if you wish. As long as you promise to be careful. It is quite rare."

He heard her close the book as gently as possible. "I'd like that, Sir. Thank you." He looked up to watch her put the tome in her bag, which looked far too small to hold it, but it swallowed the book easily.

_An Extension Charm? How clever._

He cleared his throat as she continued to browse the titles of the books, looking at the back of her head expectantly. "Much as I enjoy your company, I suspect you did not barge into my office to peruse my taste in literature. Is something troubling you, Miss Black?"

"Perhaps," she replied loftily, moving along the bookcase to instead inspect the objects on the shelves behind Lucius. "But then again, perhaps not."

Lucius gave her a sidelong glance as she began to move behind him, but returned to writing. "Perhaps, then, you would be kind enough to leave. You see, I am very busy and-" His words were cut dead when, after a soft thud as Miss Black lowered her bag from her shoulder to the floor, she moved behind him, her hands finding his shoulders, stroking through the thin layers of fabric. He found himself immediately succumbing to her, leaning back into her dextrous little fingers as they worked their way across his sinewy shoulders, finding just the right places to apply pressure which kept him firmly away from his work.

His eyes closed as her deft fingertips untied the knots which had formed over the past few months in his back, and he felt her move closer to him. Her hands so very slowly made their way upwards, one hand stroking and gathering his hair and the other trailing up the back of his neck, still red from the day before. He couldn't contain a soft noise of contentment as she leant down and kissed the marks she had made with her nails barely twenty-four hours ago, brushing her lips across the tender skin, moving around to kiss below his ear, then at his defined jaw, moving along his jawline so very slowly.

He turned his head and captured Miss Black's lips with his own, his hand lifting into her hair and preventing her from escape. Lucius felt her smile against his lips for, sure enough, she had won fair and square. All but protesting now, he pushed his chair away from his desk and broke the kiss in order to pull Miss Black into his lap. She sat side-saddled upon his legs and, momentarily, Lucius noted how she primly folded one foot behind the other as she did so before her arms were around his neck, her lips at his, and all other thoughts were lost.

In their haste, even Lucius' pain-staking particularity could not remind them to lock the door. Shirts were already being unbuttoned, heated embraces shared, hands roaming and teasing and already being far too busy to lift a wand and utter a single spell.

Lace underwear had fairly soon been case onto the floor, skirt hitched, trousers undone and shirts only partially unbuttoned in the desperation for their climax. Miss Black was facing away from Lucius, her back pressing into his chest, her head fallen back onto his shoulder. Their heads were turned in order for their lips to meet, one of Miss Black's hands gripping the arm of his leather office chair and the other twisted into Lucius' hair. Lucius' were lingering on her hips, guiding her to, as was becoming far too familiar, ease herself onto him. He let out a gasp as she, as always, clenched at his intrusion. She bit his lower lip.

It was not long before she was moving, rocking and jerking her hips in a frenzied rhythm, pushing harder and deeper with every thrust. Lucius' right hand crept up to her breasts, pulling her bra down to expose them, the other moving downwards to trace quick little circles against her clitoris with his fingertips. Miss Black moaned and broke the kiss, still leaning heavily on his shoulder, eyes closed. Her hand remained twisted in Lucius' hair, pulling his face against her neck. He was all too content to comply, breathing in the scent of her skin and vanilla, groaning softly against her neck each time she thrusted her hips forwards. He kissed her throat, bit gently, felt her racing pulse under his tongue.

His hips lifted rhythmically to add to their quick, needy movements. He felt her trembling again, her hips shaking as she moved with him. She was moaning softly, repeatedly and breathily addressing him as "Professor," every time his cock, with practised ease, pushed into her g-spot. He felt the word forming as he kissed her neck, felt it rise up her throat and be coaxed from her parted lips by his administrations. All for him.

Her vociferations soon became incoherent, a tangle of sounds and syllables with no real meaning, just the intentions of keeping Lucius thrusting into her, her legs tensing on either side of his, cunt tightening around his cock as she came close, so close, to her release.

They both heard the voice before they even realised the door had opened. "So, Lucius, why were you-" It stopped.

Lucius heard Miss Black scream, as though from far away. A flicker of anger crossed Lucius' face at the interruption, before the panic took hold. It hammered his entire body with dread, like he had been slammed none too gently into a brick wall. His arm instinctively drew across Miss Black's breasts, his hand covering the entirety of her pubic bone. He would allow no one to see her. _No one._

"Lestrange," Lucius growled. It was not as bad as Lucius' primary suspicions; at the use of his first name, he thought that a teacher had walked in on them, which would have made everything a whole lot worse than it was. If possible.

There were a few moments of Master Lestrange gaping at them, taking in Miss Black sitting in her professor's lap, their flushed bodies and heaving chests, before he, very swiftly, covered his eyes with his hand. "I'll wait outside," he said hurriedly, and slammed the door shut.

Lucius stared at the door in horror. An expletive raced across his mind. Of course, he had known that he had to be found out at some point, but not now, not so soon. They were usually careful, especially him, and to be caught out by the likes of Master Lestrange was a form of utmost irony. Somewhere, some higher being had decided it was time for Lucius to be smited, and smite him they did.

So preoccupied was Lucius with his mental cursing that it was only when he realised Miss Black was writhing and fighting against his strong hold that he even remembered she was there. "Let me _go,"_ she demanded, her tone one of absolute terror with the intentions only to get away.

With some reluctance, he did so, and she immediately removed herself from his lap, very swiftly buttoned up her shirt, retrieving her underwear and slipping them on over her shoes. Lucius pulled up his underwear and redid his trousers, sweeping his hair back off the perspiration on his face.

"Miss Black, I will sor-"

"Save it," she snapped, snatching up her bag and very quickly stalking from the room. Lucius noticed that, as she wrenched the door open, her gaze was set on the floor in order to completely ignore Master Lestrange's presence.

"Well, what was that then?" said student declared, arms folded and eyebrow raised, as he re-entered the room. He kicked the door closed behind him.

Lucius sighed exasperatedly, rubbing the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb. "Master Lestrange, I-"

"I've told you to call me Rodolphus, Lucius."

"_Rodolphus_, look, I have no excuse for what you just witnessed. It is quite obvious what you saw, therefore I shall not insult your" – He cleared his throat surreptitiously. – "_intelligence _by trying to tell you otherwise. Please, take a seat."

Master Lestrange considered this for a moment and finally did so, but not on the office chair on the other side of Lucius' desk which was proffered. Instead, he wandered forwards and made himself comfortable on the edge of Lucius' desk, pushing a stack of paper away in order to do so.

"So, you and Cissa, eh?" he questioned, eyebrow twitching upwards just a little more. "How long's this been going on then?"

"I think that is of little conseque-"

"Lucius, it's of quite a lot of consequence, and y'know it. I mean, if you've been doing this since she was, like, twelve or somethin'…" He trailed off, fixing Lucius the most serious gaze he had ever seen from Master Lestrange.

Lucius sneered at the barely disguised accusation. "Over the past four months."

"Oh, that's a relief!" he declared, pushing a spiral of dark hair out of his face.

For a moment, Lucius was speechless. "What in the name of-?"

"Well, y'see Luci, now I know you're not _entirely_ some sort of paedophile I don't really have to worry. Cissa's an attractive gal, and you're only human after all. And I'm sure she knows what she's doing." He looked contemplative for a moment. "To be honest, I always thought you batted for the other team."

Another moment in which he couldn't find anything to say. "So you are not going to Professor Dumbledore, Mast- Rodolphus?"

"If I was going to, I would've by now. For one thing, I rather like you, Lucius, and I don't want you sacked, preferably. And for another thing, it would just land Cissa straight in the shit" – Lucius again sneered at the use of the expletive, but did not comment. – "which I don't want. Poor kid would never be able to live it down, especially in _her_ family. Plus Bellatrix would hurt me quite a lot for being here talking to you instead of reporting back to her straight away." He shrugged, reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket and taking out a small box. "It's better for everyone if I just stay quiet, so I will." He flipped the lid up and offered the contents to Lucius. "Cigarette?"

Lucius stared up intently at Master Lestrange, as though wondering whether he was telling the truth or be running straight to Albus at the first opportunity. He seemed sincere, though, and his points were very valid. _Perhaps I will have to start giving him more credit. He is more intelligent than he appears. _"No, thank you," Lucius said as he shook his head, raising his palm. "I don't smoke."

"Bullshit," Master Lestrange chortled, "you just don't smoke Flintley's, huh? What do you smoke then?"

Lucius stared up into Master Lestrange's expectant eyes and sighed, reluctantly unsheathing his wand and leaning down to tap it against the bottom drawer of his desk. He pulled it out, from inside, retrieved a cigar and a Zippo lighter with his initials engraved into the solid silver.

"You pretentious twat," Master Lestrange smirked, taking the cigar and inspecting it, staring at the miniscule words imprinted on it.

"You shouldn't talk to a teacher in such a way," Lucius frowned sternly.

"You shouldn't be fucking a student," Master Lestrange retorted airily, and added, as he read from the cigar before Lucius could reply, "Havana? Where's that?"

_Ah, yes. There's the ridiculously idiotic Master Lestrange I know. The world is once again in balance._

He plucked the cigar from Master Lestrange's fingers and, from force of habit, brought it under his nose, breathing in deeply, before putting it between his lips. He flipped the lid of his lighter, exposing a bright blue flame and glanced up to see Master Lestrange staring at it. He was not surprised. Since a cigar could be lit with the end of a wand very simply, it was an unnecessary luxury, an indication of utmost wealth and prosperity. It was not easy to create a lighter of such quality, and to own one was very rare and expensive. Master Lestrange's wonderment was a very natural reaction.

"Here," Lucius offered, holding up the lighter to Master Lestrange. He took it, placed a Flintley's cigarette between his lips, and easily lit it.

"Ta," the student muttered, flipping the lid closed and passing it back to Lucius.

Lucius placed the lighter on his desk distractedly, spending his attentions on breathing in deeply. It had been a long, long time since he had touched his cigar. Two, three, four years? Somewhere around there. The taste of it was bordering divine, and he could feel his nerves begin to settle themselves as he drew it in. He held it and closed his eyes as he slowly exhaled the smoke skywards.

For a long time the two sat in silence, repeating the process of breathing deeply in and out, until the room was fairly hazy with both high-class and not-so-high-class smoke mingling and curling together. They were perfectly content, not bothering to acknowledge what Master Lestrange had walked in on or the fact that Lucius shouldn't be letting him smoke. They were two men, acquaintances, sharing a quiet smoke, satisfied in each other's company with the comfortable silence.

"Just think," Master Lestrange suddenly pondered aloud after about half of his cigarette had burnt out, the pumpkin tobacco burning and shrivelling into nothingness. It was the meditative way in which Master Lestrange spoke which worried Lucius greatly, and he had good reason to be worried. "If you got with Cissa, and I with Bella, we'd be brothers-in-law."

Lucius lowered his head and rubbed his eyelids with his thumb and forefinger. "Must I think about that?" he muttered.

"Well don't sound too enthused, Luci," Rodolphus smirked, kicking the arm of his chair.

Lucius cleared his throat irritably. "What have I done to deserve the blessing of your presence anyway, Rodolphus? I'm sure you didn't come lumbering into my office with the sole intentions of interrupting Miss Black and myself."

For a moment Master Lestrange looked confused. Then, "Oh yeah, I was gonna tell you the results of the quidditch match yesterday, since you didn't seem to be there." He took a long drag of his cigarette and breathed it out. "How come you weren't there anyway?"

Lucius looked up, staring intensely at Master Lestrange and waiting for him to cotton on. He got just a blank look in return. "Was Miss Black missing from the stands, too, per chance?" he replied, quite mockingly.

Master Lestrange considered this for a moment. Then comprehension dawned on his face. It was like a candle being illuminated. "Oh. Well. I suppose that's a valid reason."

Lucius smirked. "You would have never made the connection there, hm?"

"Well, it's not every day you find out your head of house is nailing your girlfriend's little sister, is it?"

"Must you make it sound so crude?"

"Yes."

Lucius sighed. Maybe he should have not told Master Lestrange anything. Maybe he should have just encouraged him to go off to Albus, report him and allow him to be sacked. It would have saved him a lot of stress and trouble. He was sure facing the Dark Lord with his failure would be much more bearable than this. But, then, maybe they should have not dawdled. Had she not been browsing the titles of the books, they would most likely have been finished by the time Master Lestrange came barging into his office. "Bloody Italian literature," he muttered aloud.

There was a pause. "What?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing." He took a deep drag of his cigar, holding it in and breathing it out slowly. He then stubbed it out on the edge of his desk, leaving no indication that he had done so, and replaced it and his lighter back in his bottom drawer. Everything happened for a reason, after all. "So, what happened yesterday?"

* * *

><p><strong>An abrupt ending, maybe, but I had to end it here or it would've run on for far too long. I have exceeded my expectations in quantity again.<strong>

**As always, thank you for reading thus far and I hope you enjoyed. I'm looking forward to writing the next chapter myself – it'll be a good'un. c:**


	11. Chapter 11

**This chapter is short because, again, I am afraid I have planned too much, and to fit all I wanted to would have made it a stupid length. I suppose, in a way then, this is kind of a filler. Still, I hope you enjoy.**

* * *

><p>December managed to pass swiftly by, strangely enough without too many incidents.<p>

Maurice had been very apologetic in the days following the dungeon party, blaming drink for the things she had said, and so was full of smiles and brightness and was always willing to help Narcissa with her Potions homework. Quite the advantage, that was.

Crowley, also, on the night after the party, had apologised profusely, his dazzling smile present though its effect was lost with the dark bags under his eyes and a heavy hangover slurring his voice. "I didn't know what I was doing," he pleaded, "and I'm so sorry, Cissa. Do you think we could forget it, yes?" He twitched his head as though to show his teeth from a different angle.

Narcissa had not spoken. She was still terrified, and was horrified further at the fact that he was apologising for _the occurrence_ in the common room, in front of everyone. She didn't want to talk about it. She didn't want to _think _about it. And the curious gazes of her acquaintances and sisters were indicative that there would be questions. She knew that if she answered Bella would kill him, which really didn't seem like such a bad idea at that moment.

"Go away," she murmured into her knees, not looking up at Crowley, back rigid and fighting the prickle of tears. "Don't ask," she added to everyone else, as he sidled off with his smile wavering.

It had been very awkward for her in the common room the evening after Rodolphus had walked in on her and Professor Malfoy, but he seemed no different, greeting Narcissa in the usual jovial way and proceeding to try his luck with Bellatrix. Over the last few weeks of the year he had, seemingly, kept quiet. For one, Bella had not yet committed murder, and two Professor Malfoy was still with job. He shared more friendly glances with her in the common room, mouth twitching up as if to say 'don't worry about it', in the weeks following the scene he had walked in on. She was content to smile slightly back. He wasn't such a bad guy, she decided, having been uncertain about him for the past three years.

Professor Malfoy was more difficult to smile at. Her demeanour towards him was icy in the week which followed their act of sin in his office, but, when she realised that Rodolphus wasn't going to tell and they were safe, her gazes at him in class began to get less frosty. They did not commit anymore dreadfully sinful acts in the run up to the Christmas holidays, despite the heated kisses that were exchanged when they were alone in corridors or after class, often both teasing as though daring the other to push it further, but nothing else was done for fear of being caught. However, despite limited activity, they had spent more time talking to one another, whether in Professor Malfoy's room or his office. About _The Divine Comedy, _politics, family, career plans (on Narcissa's part, though how Professor Malfoy became a teacher came up briefly), past flames (on Professor Malfoy's part, though Narcissa was soon wishing she hadn't asked). Narcissa found even his conversation charming, his suave smile should she say something particularly interesting over the rim of his wine glass captivating. It was almost maddening.

She did not really miss committing such dastardly things with Professor Malfoy though, for it was December, and therefore the castle seemed all the more magical. Despite the fact that she was quite used to the lead up to Christmas in Hogwarts, having experienced four of them, it still never ceased to amaze her. The castle was teeming with life.

The sound of the school choir, led by Professor Flitwick, was seldom unheard through the corridors. The half-breed oaf had chopped down a thick evergreen tree from the Forbidden Forest, the snow coming up to his midriff as he hauled it back, and erected in the centre of the Entrance Hall. Mistletoe had begun sprouting up at random intervals around the school, giant sprigs of white berries and green leaves with huge white ribbons around them, too large to miss. Narcissa made it her business to not get caught under one of them with anyone, and kept her eyes on the ceiling of the common room lest Crowley be staring at her, as was his recent favourite activity, and one appear above her head. Live faeries had taken to flitting around the school, scattering light, warm snow over the students and interrupting lessons with their antics (Narcissa noticed, during her Defence Against the Dark Arts classes, that they seemed quite taken with Professor Malfoy, fluttering around him and wrapping themselves in his hair. She often had to remind herself that the feeling boiling in her stomach was not jealousy). The ghosts could often be seen arguing over who were the ghosts of Christmas Past, Present and Future, until the Bloody Baron declared that he was all three and nothing else was said on the subject. The Great Hall was filled during meal times with steaming bowls and delectable scents of warming stews and festive foods. Narcissa found she rather liked the meringue in the shape of a snowman for dessert with a cup of warm, milky, unsweetened tea. The snow outside was perilous, falling thick, hard and fast, so Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures were thankfully cancelled for the remainder of the year. Narcissa used her spare time to catch Professor Malfoy alone, or curl up in front of the fire in the common room, or watch the half-breed oaf carrying a blushing Professor Sprout through the snow in his arms so that she could tend to her mandrakes.

Yet, despite how much Narcissa loved Christmas, she found it almost a shame when the December holidays inevitably arrived, and she was being pulled towards the Hogwarts platform with her luggage in the horseless carriage, trundling along a path of magically melted snow. She had made it her business to see Professor Malfoy before she left, wished him a merry Christmas, kissed him, looked at him, kissed him harder and had left him in his office before she could get carried away. She knew that he was staying over the holiday, so he would be far from alone, but she still didn't feel much like leaving once his lips had pressed so deliciously into hers.

Walden had his arm around Maurice on the seat opposite Narcissa's in one of the carriages, and she had to suppress a sigh all the way to the platform. How she wished she could spend a night with Professor Malfoy. Just one night, rather than embracing her pillow and pretending it was he. She didn't want him. Of course she didn't. It was just nice to be held, and that was all. Though she had been incredibly careful to pack that ribbon, in a tiny pocket of its own within her suitcase, so the scent was not affected by that of any of her clothes. It did not mean she wanted Professor Malfoy. Of course not. What a thought.

The few remaining days before Christmas in the House of Black were not a quiet affair. With so many people under one roof, arguments were rife, often ending in an unconscious body or two; "Cygnus, get yer arse orf that chair and help y'big sister," or "have you been lending money to Sirius again, Alphard?" or "Yes, well, at least I didn't marry my cousin, Walburga".

Despite the hostility of the occupants, 12 Grimmauld Place had also been spruced up for the occasion, though it was pitiful against the majesty of Hogwarts. A short, bare Christmas tree sat in the corner of the living room, though it liked to wander around the house, shaking the last bit of its greenness and pine needles on the floor just to be an annoyance. Faerie lights from the attic had been wrapped around the troll-leg umbrella stand, but they were so old that they barely had any glow left, and had to be nailed by their wings to the stand since they were not happy at their placing. The holly spruces which had been placed at random points around the house liked to wander away from their designated places and situate themselves on the chairs at the family dinner table, pointy-side up. There was even an attempt made with Kreacher, for someone (Narcissa would guess her mother) had charmed his old-parchment coloured, wrinkled skin into a festive gold while he was sleeping, and someone else (Narcissa would guess her Aunt Walburga) had attached a sprig of mistletoe with a Permanent Sticking Charm to his loincloth. He could often be seen sulking at Aunt Walburga's feet in the drawing room.

Narcissa's bedroom was situated on the third floor. It was the biggest of the third-floor bedrooms, since, when she was old enough to recognise that the biggest things were the best things (which was surprisingly young), Narcissa had kicked and screamed and cried until Bellatrix was forced to move out of the room and Narcissa had moved in. In stark contrast to the dank, dark house, it was beautiful, the walls a delicate shade of cream with a plush green carpet, deep green curtains which covered the huge window looking out onto the Muggle street below and a double four-poster bed. In the corner was a writing desk, on which was a tiny hurdy-gurdy which softly played Clair de Lune if she couldn't sleep. An often empty frame dominated most of the far wall, in which Phineas Nigellus Black would appear if he decided to wander away from his post of 'advising' the current headmaster, or if he just wanted a chat with Narcissa. She rather liked her great-great-great-grandfather, so had not taken it down when she acquired the bedroom.

Bellatrix had, since then, taken residence in the room opposite Narcissa's, just across the landing, and Andromeda's was the room beside Bella's, though for this holiday it was empty, since she had remained in Hogwarts. Sirius and Regulus' bedrooms were on the topmost floor, with her Aunt Walburga's and Uncle Orion's room, and her mother and father resided in the bedroom on the second floor (though her mother often habited the spare bedroom beside Narcissa's, due to her husband's snoring).

Christmas day saw no ceasing in the arguments. Quite the opposite, by the time everyone had consumed quite a lot of eggnog, white wine and brandy. Presents had been given and received in the morning, to mixed reviews; Sirius really was not happy upon opening a pair of woolly green socks, while Bellatrix was overjoyed at unwrapping a dagger given to her from her parents, made of dark metal, sharpened to a deadly sheen, just the right weight for her to throw. Quite a lot of walls had had the blade embedded in them before the day was out. The dinner, however, was very successful, with the combined skill of Druella, Walburga and Kreacher to cook a chicken, turkey, and bowl upon bowl of steaming potatoes, cooked in every which way, vegetables and three huge floats of gravy. Full, the family had listened to the Minister for Magic's speech on the tinny old radio in the evening with Narcissa's father falling asleep in his armchair, his pipe still clenched between his teeth and a glass of eggnog teetering precariously in his hand.

Narcissa had spent most of Christmas day thinking about Professor Malfoy. Wondering what he was doing, how he had spent the day. No doubt he had been in the Great Hall eating Christmas dinner, but she wondered if he'd had any presents, or was sitting in his armchair in his room listening to the Minister for Magic's speech as she was, or was singing in the school choir. The thought of the last option made her collapse into fits of silent, largely wine-induced giggles which caused her family to stare at her, but fortunately they did not ask.

She had thought, for most of the day, that he had forgotten about her, for she had written him a brief letter on the night of Christmas Eve wishing him a merry Christmas, good will, good health etcetera and had wondered for over an hour how to finish it until she ended on a _'yours, Narcissa'_ and sent Noctua to Hogwarts with it before she could change her mind. She received nothing for the entirety of Christmas day, and was worried that Noctua had got caught in the perilous snow and perished until he came back empty-legged that evening. She was disheartened, made worse from her wine intake, until she retired to bed and found Professor Malfoy's eagle owl sitting patiently on the window sill.

She opened the window and the owl flew in, sitting on her bed and hooting gratefully. After removing a few pieces of chicken from her Christmas supper sandwich and feeding them to the owl, she removed the little package from around the bird's leg, finding again a little jewellery box with a ribbon attached to it in a bow. Smiling, Narcissa slipped the piece of folded up parchment away from the ribbon and opened it. It was not as brief as his first letter, and she felt the little bubble of contentment swell within her rib cage, though it lessened slightly as she read.

_I hope this finds you well._

_Thank you for your letter. I have decided to send my response with my own owl as opposed to your family bird. I thought that carrying a package back may cause him to deteriorate. Additionally, I did not want to risk your family reading this. It would cause awkward questions. At least with my own bird, I know that this will get directly to you. I hope I am not interrupting your day, and hope also that you have had a merry Christmas and will have a happy new year._

_May I remind you that your essay on the Cruciatus Curse is due in on your first lesson back. _

_With kind regards,_

_L. Malfoy_

Well. It beat his initials. It was very much him. Calculating and fairly emotionless.

Sighing with some dejection, Narcissa pulled the ribbon off the little presentation box and opened it. Inside were a pair of black pearl earrings with that dark green tint, matching the necklace he had given to her for her birthday. Her eyes, however, were drawn to the inside of the lid of the box where, on a tiny piece of parchment which had been carefully stuck there, the words '_Yours, Lucius_' were written in that intricate handwriting.

"You bastard, keeping me waiting," she whispered, before the bubble in her chest, with the help of her rather inebriated state, caused her to fall backwards on the bed, reduced to a giggling mess. Professor Malfoy's eagle owl had watched her incredulously, eyes flicking between her and the remaining chicken on her sandwiches.

The rest of the Christmas holiday passed in a blur. Perhaps if her parents purchased the Daily Prophet, rather than thinking of it as merely 'bureaucratic bollocks' as her father often referred to it, then she would have had something to keep her busy over the two weeks apart from thoughts of Professor Malfoy. Something to mull over, and something to panic over. As it was, she was allowed the bliss of ignorance for a little while longer while, elsewhere, people were screaming.

* * *

><p>"Ah, Professor," Narcissa smiled as she entered her Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom on the 6th January, a Wednesday and her first day back from the Christmas holiday. "Good morning."<p>

On the previous day, the train ride to Hogwarts from Platform 9¾ had been passed away swiftly. She, Maurice and Alberta Raine had played their favourite game of eyeing up the other student's new hairstyles and possessions from over the holiday and criticising them heavily and, after hours of heavy condemnation, had eaten quickly and retired to their dormitory where they had fallen asleep almost immediately. Narcissa had barely noticed how solemn all the Hufflepuffs seemed to look. They weren't worth her time. Though she did notice in the Great Hall that Professor Malfoy seemed troubled, with his furrowed brow and interlocked fingers, as though his mind was elsewhere.

He seemed to be likewise lost in thought when she walked in on him at his desk, in his classroom. She had skipped breakfast and gone to class early in order to speak to him before the lesson began, when no one else was there to disturb them. It was at least ten seconds before Professor Malfoy looked up from his desk, and when he did the stare that he fixed Narcissa with was so intense it almost frightened her. His hair was tied back tightly into a dark green ribbon, so she could not concentrate on a few stray strands. Only his eyes. It was studious of her, of her face, and he appeared not to recognise her immediately.

"Thank you for the gift," Narcissa continued, in an attempt to spark up a conversation. Stop him looking at her so very darkly. "They are lovely."

"Good," he said simply, somewhat testily. He was watching her with scrutiny, still.

Uncomfortable under his gaze, Narcissa looked downwards and made her way to her desk, where she deposited her brand new bag – a green, vintage messenger satchel of worn leather which smelt so very lovely – and wondered if she had done something to insult him.

"Miss Black." Narcissa looked up. Professor Malfoy was looking away from her, his eyes still dark. "Come here."

Narcissa hesitated but did so, approaching him and feeling very vulnerable indeed. Like a dove under the eyes of an eagle. Though the predatory look he bestowed upon her was probably more suited to the look in an eagle's eye upon spotting a mouse. Easy prey.

"You haven't been reading the papers lately, have you?" he inquired softly. Narcissa noticed, as she moved closer, how hard his eyes seemed to be. Like literal shards of steel in his retinas, rather than just a grey mimicking the colour. She slowly shook her head.

Professor Malfoy's lips curved upwards at one side in a humourless smirk. "Come here," he repeated, pushing his chair away from his desk.

She was reluctant to do so. "Should I have been reading the Daily Prophet, Sir?" Professor Malfoy didn't respond, merely stared at her expectantly. She eventually steeled herself and moved to lower herself onto his lap.

He leant in almost immediately to kiss her, taking her lips with a force which, at first, surprised her. One arm was around her waist, his other hand at the back of her head, preventing her from moving away from his commanding lips. She soon found that she didn't want to, returning the gesture and wrapping her arms around his neck. It had been so long since she had been with him that she welcomed his power, the prowess which made him so undeniable.

His hands were everywhere, all at once. Pushing the school robes from her shoulders, pulling her shirt collar out of the confines of her tie and undoing the buttons hastily, trailing his fingertips over the pale skin of her torso which became exposed to him.

She made a noise of protest as soon as her mind, hazy with desire, kicked in with a rational thought or two. "No, Professor, we can't," Narcissa whimpered, trying to keep her eyes open as Professor Malfoy leant in to kiss her neck. It was just as forceful as his kisses upon her lips, enough to hurt, but his hands were stroking down her sides and over her back beneath the fabric of her open shirt. She felt as if his fingers were flames, setting her skin alight, yet still her hairs stood on end. "W-we'll be caught."

Swiftly, Professor Malfoy reached back and unsheathed his wand. _"Colloportus," _he growled at the door, and there was a click as it locked. He absently placed his wand at the edge of his desk and returned to his ravishing of Narcissa's skin, pulling her hair from the ponytail she had put it up in that morning so that it pooled around her shoulders chaotically.

She followed the guidance of Professor Malfoy's strong hands, leading her this way and that, to rise so he could kiss her collar bone and to fall so that their hips could rub so deliciously together through their layers of clothing. It felt foreign to Narcissa, however, as though it was not Professor Malfoy but a stranger who she was responding to. He was usually gentle with her, as though she was a china doll and he a collector, but the way he controlled her completely made her feel like a ragdoll. His movements were all so cold, so calculated, and she had to pull his face up to hers with a soft moan in order to receive another kiss upon her lips.

It was virile, and he kissed her demure mouth almost hard enough to bruise. Narcissa could not help but feel a little afraid, and made a quiet noise of protest, trying to move away from him. Professor Malfoy, however, held her tightly to him by the arm around her waist and, with his other, swept the sheets, stacks of parchment and everything which littered his desk off onto the floor. The documents fluttered to the ground around the classroom like leaves falling from their tree in autumn, while the hourglass loudly smashed, spilling sand all over the floor, and pots of ink went flying, smattering splashes of red, green and black over the walls.

After doing so, his arm wrapped around Narcissa's back as Professor Malfoy lifted her easily and lowered her onto her back, on his desk. She bit her lip as he, without warning, pulled her underwear down from beneath her skirt, discarded them and accommodated himself between her legs.

"Professor," she breathed as he pulled her hips to the edge of the desk, pressing his arousal, defined through his trousers, between her thighs. There was still that predatory look in his eyes as he stared down at her, his scrutinizing gaze roaming over her exposed stomach and chest, shirt open but not discarded, hitching her skirt up to stroke his fingers over the trimmed hairs of her pubic bone.

She jolted as his fingertips brushed her clitoris, her entire body twitching at the feeling. A strange mix of pleasure and tribulation made her toes curl against the bottoms of her shoes. He was being strange. Not himself. For a moment her mind wandered to the teachings of her father on Polyjuice Potion, which they had a large amount of in 12 Grimmauld Place within a large cabinet which Orion Black always kept locked with a key around his neck (Cygnus Black had suffered at the hands of Druella when she found out that her husband was teaching their youngest daughter of such dark things). She wondered if this was an impostor, for it didn't feel like Professor Malfoy at all. Yet he was the only teacher that knew, rightly so, about their sexual activities, so the thought was cast from her mind. For an incredulous moment her mind wondered if it was a Death Eater taking his place, for in her mind they were the type for this rough, brutal behaviour. Yet, the way he guided her so smoothly, always with the air of dignity he kept about himself, his voice with such commanding power that she could almost feel a rumble of thunder behind his very word. No one else could impersonate that.

Narcissa let out a soft cry as she felt the tip of her professor's member press against her. So lost in thoughts of conspiracies was she that she didn't register him unbuttoning his trousers, pushing down his underwear. So overcome with ideas of collaborators and fiends was she, just to hide the fact that this Professor Malfoy, this imposing, threatening shell of him, may not be the man who made her feel such delight, that she was surprised when he began to push into her.

She bit her lip to stop tears springing to her eyes. She was wet from his previous administrations, yes, but it was not what she wanted. He was not leaning down to take her lips with his own, as he usually did to soften her cries at his entrance. Instead he was just standing above her, and seemed to not even be looking at her, focusing on a spot on the table somewhere to the left of her face. With her arms uselessly at her sides, for she had no lean body to wrap them around, she attempted to lock her legs around her professor's hips in some form of closeness, of security. Professor Malfoy did not allow it, however, for he gripped the tender skin behind her knees and pushed her legs back so her thighs ended up on either side of her chest. His domination was unquestionable, like this. She was at his mercy – or lack of it, seemingly, at this moment.

His thrusts began not as gradually as usual, and they were relentless. He forcefully drove into her with his hips snapping forwards, pulling back only to repeat the motion. Apart from his heavy breathing he was soundless, without the usual soft groans he let out when with Narcissa. She writhed beneath him as best she could in her constraining position, back arching as he hit into that spot deep inside of her. She tried to keep her moans quiet but failed spectacularly, nearly screaming as his pace became more erratic and rough.

Her hips were soon quivering at his force, her breasts rocking in tandem with Professor Malfoy's thrusts despite them still being held within her bra. She, at some point, had clenched her eyes shut, pretending that he was kissing her and pressing his body so securely against hers. It was not difficult, for there was still the heat of his body at her cunt, the throb of his erection deep within her and the smell of his aftershave. That was a small mercy.

When she came, it was a bittersweet sensation. It made her spine arch, a soft cry of pleasure come from her lips, but it was more of an automated response. It was not accompanied by the intensity that Professor Malfoy's administrations usually bestowed upon her. She felt unfulfilled, desperate for more, despite the way she tensed and released so deliciously on her professor's cock.

She lost count of how many orgasms accompanied the first. The minutes seemed to stretch on for hours, but she knew they couldn't, since the sounds of people moving through the corridors to their classes from breakfast was only just becoming evident through the locked door. None held the intensity she so craved. She was biting her lip to stop herself crying out, or telling her professor to stop, for she knew that he would not. She didn't want him angry with her.

To think, little more than a month ago, he had made her feel so blissful that she had nearly fallen to the awaiting arms of le petit mort. To think, even, that little more than two weeks ago they had seemed so happy in each other's company, speaking of inconsequential things, drinking wine and arguing over interpretations of Dante's travels which ended in heated kisses and embraces which felt almost warm. Almost affectionate.

She knew something must have happened to make that man so distant from her. There was something he wasn't telling her. Something that happened over the holiday to make him like this. _Something terrible._

Professor Malfoy shuddered and groaned lowly and loudly as he came, releasing deep inside Narcissa. She winced as she felt him do so, but slowly opened her eyes. The sound of laboured breathing seemed somewhat softer than it did during their sex -

_Their fucking._

- and he was finally meeting her eyes. Their gaze locked, and Narcissa noticed that the steel within his retinas seemed to have returned to that of grey-sky which she had grown to adore watching. His stare was considerably softer, his complexion calmer and less tense. The change in him scared her more than his brutal taking of her.

He let go of her legs and she slowly lowered them. When he didn't move, pulling out of her but remaining between her thighs, she wrapped them loosely around Professor Malfoy's waist, and he took her hands in his, helping her up into a sitting position. The tenderness of his actions confused Narcissa greatly, doubled when he held her chin between the crook of his finger and his thumb and kissed her, as softly as usual.

As though nothing had happened.

Narcissa let out a soft noise and wrapped her arms around Professor Malfoy's neck, pressing desperately into the kiss. She revelled in the feeling of his arms coiling around her, holding her chest close to his. The orgasms she had just experienced were nothing compared to the joy she felt as she returned his embrace, his gentle hold.

"Professor," she whispered against his lips, but he silenced her.

"Your class mates will be waiting outside the door," he murmured.

Narcissa paused. And then slowly nodded, pursing her lips together and hating her fellow students for a moment. She regretfully unwrapped her legs from around Professor Malfoy, who kissed her again, deeply but tenderly, and left her to tuck himself back into his underwear and redo his trousers. As Narcissa hastily buttoned up her shirt and found her underwear, slipping into them, Professor Malfoy sought out his wand which had rolled onto the floor and panned it soundlessly across the classroom. The papers and files which had been cast unceremoniously from his desk returned instantly to their rightful places, the hourglass was fixed within seconds, filled with its sand, and the pots of ink were once again full on his desk with no hint of colour staining the walls. The black curtains which had been covering the portraits around the room snapped open to reveal a few, slumbering occupants who protested at the amount of light and turned over against their frames.

"Get your bag and stand over by the door. Pretend you're just coming in," Professor Malfoy commanded her, though his voice was its usual silky self rather than that of his cold, hard counterpart.

Nodding, and pulling her collar back up underneath her tie, Narcissa did as she was told, standing in the position which would be behind the door when it opened and hurriedly charming her hair back into a ponytail. After a quick sweep of the classroom with his eyes, Professor Malfoy seemed to decide that any evidence of their activity had been hidden and, with two soundless flicks, the door unlocked and opened, and the fifth-years began to soldier in single-file, grumbling and bleary-eyed.

Narcissa filtered into the shuffling crowd of students, making sure to not attract any attention to herself. It worked, and no one even realised she had been in the class before the rest of them. She was getting far too good at hiding.

"Now," Professor Malfoy began commandingly once all of the class had become seated, "I told you to write me an essay on the Cruciatus Curse over the holiday. I expect you have all done it, and have it ready to hand into me now."

In unison, the class reached down for their bags, to get out the desired rolls of parchment. Typical. It was as though nothing at all had happened. Though, what else she expected, Narcissa didn't know. It wasn't as though he could shout what he had just done with her from the rooftops.

Sighing, Narcissa reached into her bag for her essay, just like everyone else, and in doing so cast her gaze to the opposite side of the room. She noticed that the Hufflepuffs looked particularly solemn, with dark eyes. One girl, beside an empty seat, appeared as though she had recently been crying. They were not renowned for their misery, usually their bloody over-jovial nature, so Narcissa elbowed Maurice gently.

"What's wrong with the Hufflepuffs?" she whispered, as Professor Malfoy swept around, collecting in the essays which his students were holding up. "They all look pretty down."

Maurice cast her an incredulous glance. "You haven't heard about it?" she hissed.

"No. What?"

"The lad who used to sit over there" - Maurice turned her head and lifted her upturned nose at the empty seat. – "his name was Samuel Bones."

She thought hard. Oh. The almost-ginger boy who had been pelted with chalk by Peeves at the start of term – oh, how long ago that seemed – and had raised his bag to protect himself usually sat there. She had never known his name, so it was still of little consequence to her. As though to portray this lack of importance, Narcissa stared at Maurice blankly. "And?"

"Merlin's beard, Cissa, I know you don't read the Daily Prophet, but everyone was talking about it at breakfast."

About to reply that she had skipped breakfast, but knowing that would raise awkward questions from Maurice, she simply stated, "I must have missed it. Care to enlighten me?"

"His whole family has been missing for over a month. They were killed, on New Year's Day, they think," she whispered, looking around to make sure that no Hufflepuffs could hear. "Found four days ago. Today's their funeral, I think, but they still haven't found his niece."

A soft 'o' of surprise graced Narcissa's mouth, but she didn't feel much remorse. "Poor him."

"They think Death Eaters are involved," Maurice continued, "y'know, those madmen who are working for that Lord Voldemort person. It's not so much a dark cult anymore, more an organisation. People are getting scared, and"

Nacissa stopped listening then. Death Eaters. Death Eaters killed the entire Bones family. Death Eaters killed the entire Bones family.

_Death Eaters killed the entire Bones family._

"Miss Parkington," a cool voice said from somewhere far away. "Much as I hate to interrupt the conversation between you and Miss Black, your essay, please."

Maurice muttered and apology and held her essay aloft for Professor Malfoy to collect it. Suddenly feeling very weak, and very cold, Narcissa did the same. She stared hard into Professor Malfoy's eyes, and he gazed back. He was the first to look away.

"Thank you," he murmured silkily, and continued to collect in the remaining essays.

_No. No, he couldn't. Not the family of a student. Or anyone. He wouldn't. He couldn't._

_Or could he. He showed me barely ten minutes ago that he's fairly capable of being cold and emotionless. It wouldn't be hard for him._

_No, he's not a killer!_

_What if he is?_

What if he was? What would she do? Oh, Merlin.

Throughout the class, she couldn't concentrate. She didn't hear Professor Malfoy, or Maurice's quiet hisses, only the soft sobbing of the Hufflepuff girl beside the empty chair in which should have been seated a now orphan.

* * *

><p>"Did you have something to do with it?" Miss Black demanded, shoving the door of Lucius' office open without bothering to knock. The door slammed into the wall and bounced. It would have hit her had she not been storming into the room but, as she was, it pounded back into the doorframe, the sounds of crashing wood and creaking hinges reverberating around the cavernous room.<p>

"With what, Miss Black?" Lucius muttered to her hostility, looking politely up from the parchment on which he was writing a lesson plan for his third-years.

She approached his desk petulantly, slamming her hands onto the edge. "You know what," she growled.

Lucius sighed in exasperation, lowering his quill and sitting back in his chair. "I have no idea what you are talking about."

Clearly agitated, she roamed around in her bag impatiently for a moment before bringing out the Daily Prophet from January 2nd, from the newspaper archive of Hogwart's library, apparently, since a stamp of the school coat of arms was in the corner. She slammed it down onto the desk in front of Lucius. He looked down, but didn't need to see it to know what it was.

A photograph of the Bones family took up most of the front page, each smiling up at him. In the very centre was Edgar and his wife, Louisa, with their two children, Alfred and Stephanie. They were so tiny and beaming like children do. Beside Louisa was, according to the caption, Edgar's sister, Amelia who Lucius did not recognise, and beside Edgar was their youngest brother, Samuel Bones, whom he recognised instantly as being in the same class as Narcissa. Behind Edgar were his parents, the father, Daniel, with his hand on Edgar's shoulder, looking so very proud, and the mother, Nancy, not looking at the cameraman but staring with adoration down at her first grandchildren.

He had read the article so many times before, but still felt his eyes drawn to the headline:

_**BONES FAMILY FOUND DEAD**_

_**Wizarding Britain is in uproar today, as almost an entire family was found dead in their own home.**_

_The family, who have been missing for over a month, were suspected to have died on the night of New Year's Eve or the early hours of New Year's Day. Daniel (55) and Nancy (49) Bones were discovered with their son, Edgar (30), his wife Lousia (28) and one of their two children Alfred (5) in their sitting room. The other child, Stephanie (4) has not yet been found. In what was described as "a horrific state", they were discovered by their family friend, Jamie Frederickson (45), earlier today. _

"_It was terrible," said Frederickson from his St. Mungo's bed, where he had been admitted for treatment of his shock. Upon questioning, he told the Daily Prophet that_

Lucius stopped reading. He pushed his chair back from his desk and rose from it, stepping away from the accusing glare of Miss Black and the image of the once so happy family staring up at him.

"Why would you think I had something to do with it?" he asked flippantly, looking at his bookcase rather than at Miss Black

"'Death Eater activity has been suspected'," Miss Black snapped, and he knew she was quoting from the article even though she wasn't looking at it. "And the same mark that is on your arm was seen above the Bones' house. Do you think I'm stupid, Professor? Tell me straight, and tell me now. Did you have anything to do with it?"

He considered this for a moment and opened his mouth, but before he could even let out a sound the bracelet around Miss Black's wrist was whistling loudly, glowing such a bright red that it showed through the long sleeve of her school robes.

She stared at him accusingly. "Well?" she demanded, holding up her hand as though more attention needed to be drawn to the high-pitched whistle coming from her wrist.

Lucius scowled. "Miss Black, it is none of your conce-"

"Of _course _it is my concern! If you are off killing the parents and brothers of students – _fellow _students – then I should know, Sir."

"You are meddling in things which are of no consequence to you. Just leav-"

"No. Tell me. Did you have anything to do with it?"

"Miss Black, go."

"Did you?"

"Miss Bla-"

"_Did. You?"_

"Look, I-"

"Lucius!" she snapped suddenly. Her voice was raised, her hands were fists and her chest was heaving with angry, agitated breaths.

It was like a slap to his face. It may have been the tone of voice which she used, or the shock of her using his first name, or the intense, betrayed glare which she set upon him, but Lucius felt his resolve wavering despite himself. He turned to face her, though he kept his eyes averted, looking at her neck. It was beyond the realms of teacher and student now. It was life and death. "Look," he murmured, in a much softer tone, "it is none of your business. It is between the Ministry of Magic, Professor Dumbledore and the Bones family."

The look which Miss Black gave him was enough indication to Lucius that she wouldn't give up, and if she left she would be going straight to someone of higher power than herself to interrogate him. The things which would come from his mouth should he be given Veritaserum… He didn't have much choice. He was backed into a corner. He breathed in deeply.

"Are you…" He swallowed, cleared his throat and tried again. "Are you sure you want to know?"

For a second Miss Black looked scared. Her eyes were wide and she bit the inside of her lip. Lucius could see she was trying to stop herself from crying. "Yes."

There was a short pause. Then Lucius nodded and moved back to his desk. She watched him like an eagle would watch a mouse. _How tides turn, _he pondered idly, as he sheathed his wand from his cane.

He could have stopped it then. He could have turned upon her, used _obliviate _and then no more would have ever been said of that infernal night. No more questions would have been asked, and he would have been able to carry on quite contently. Miss Black would have been none the wiser. But then, why couldn't he do it? Why did his head tell him to do so, to wipe her memory completely, but he found that his hand was stilled, and he could not coax his tongue to utter the word he wanted to?

Miss Black looked as though she half expected him to do what he was thinking. She looked like she was _hoping _for it. Perhaps she was, Lucius reasoned, for what she would soon see was likely to shatter her.

_Do it._

_No. I can't._

_Yes you can, man. Wipe her memory of everything. And then Master Lestrange. It's safer that way._

_I can't. She deserves better. She deserves to know the truth. I owe her that much, surely._

_Hm. She deserves better than you in general._

_Finally, something we agree on. _

Lucius sighed resignedly, and raised the tip of his wand to his temple. He closed his eyes and concentrated hard on the night of New Year's Eve. As he pulled his wand away, a string of thought clung to the tip, a silvery-blue wisp of consciousness. He moved past his desk, over to his Pensieve in the corner of the room, and spoke solemnly. "Come here, Miss Black."

She did so, soundlessly joining him at his side. Lucius could tell that she was tense, staring hard at the shimmering surface of the Pensieve rather than at him. He couldn't blame her.

_Narcissa, _he intoned to himself as he placed the string of thought into the Pensieve. It gleamed with a pastel-blue glow momentarily, before dispersing across the basin. There were shapes in the surface, black figures shifting and moving, but could not yet be made out. Narcissa looked up uncertainly at him, and he nodded once, soberly, before she took a breath and plunged her face into the Pensieve's surface. _Forgive me._

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><p><strong>Because every story needs a cliff-hanger somewhere.<strong>

**Yes, you were meant to dislike Lucius in this chapter. Now I'll just be really cruel and leave you here for a week or so. Le evil laughter. (Just kidding, I couldn't do that to you)**

**With many thanks to everyone who has reviewed, added this to their alerts and to my faithful readers. c:**


	12. Chapter 12

**Dear readers, I will warn you now, this chapter really isn't for the faint-hearted. In fact, it's pretty sick, and you may hate me for it, but this is the Death Eater way, I suppose. If you are of a nervous disposition, or have problems with violence, gore, not very nice things etc, I suggest you skip most of this chapter altogether. Find when Narcissa is back in Professor Malfoy's office. This is me pushing boundaries. Dark territory is being entered here.**

**If you're cool with it, then please do read on. But don't say you haven't been warned.**

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><p>Narcissa felt a strong pull as the Pensieve sucked her into to its shimmering depths, grabbing her with a firm grip and dragging her beneath the surface. She had plunged into one before, her father's which she had accidentally fallen into since she had once been very young and curious, yet the lurching feeling of Professor Malfoy's office still made her feel physically sick.<p>

There was the feeling of falling, shadowy forms and swirls of memory taking shape around her as she felt a rushing sound in her ears, plunging into a whirlpool of cold darkness. For a moment she thought Professor Malfoy had set some sort of trap, and that she was just going to continue falling into nothingness with nought but the swirling shapes and faceless bodies and-

She landed on her feet in what appeared to be a sitting room. A perfectly normal one at that. Under her feet was a cream carpet, clearly well-looked after for it appeared clean even in the dim light of the fire, flickering lowly in the hearth underneath a proud mantelpiece of marble, in which was carved two cherubs on either side and a small but ornate mantel-clock on top. It was the only source of light, despite a small, simple chandelier filled with candles on the ceiling and long fingers of wax all around the room, none of which were lit. The walls were a pale yellow, with numerous picture frames dotted along them, filled with the photographs of the family who occupied the house, which Narcissa knew because she recognised the faces from the front of the Daily Prophet. Most of the occupants of the photographs, however, looked horrified, and the reason why was evident.

The sitting room, upon closer glance, was a mess. Possessions were for the most part scattered around, torn apart and broken into deadly little pieces. A large brown leather sofa was torn into shreds, scattered around the room. A little old radio was screaming white noise was in the corner on a rickety old table and an entire bookcase had been almost thoroughly demolished, pages littering the floor. Many of the picture frames on the walls were cracked or askew, with the subjects of the photographs clinging to each other for dear life. In family photographs the mother embraced the children tightly, protecting them from witnessing the dreadful things happening beyond the safety of their glass, and baby photographs were wailing in terror. The curtains were pulled tightly shut, though the soft glow of a streetlamp outside, evident through a minute crack in between them, informed Narcissa that it was night-time. Lit by the infiltrating fingers of the streetlamps and the fire, voyeuristic rays of light pushing into the room for a better look, were the family.

Three of the family were bound to chairs by invisible rope. The chairs seemed to be from the kitchen, for they were made of hard wood, with straight, rigid backs. Two people, a woman and a man whom Narcissa recognised as Nancy and Daniel, were unconscious, their heads lolling forwards onto their chests, the weight of their bodies leaning forward stopped by their magical bindings. Their brows were creased, exaggerating their somewhat wrinkled foreheads. The third person tied to a chair was conscious, a man with a mop dark brown hair stuck to his face. Edgar Bones.

Narcissa could guess that he had been struggling for quite some time, for he looked exhausted and his mouth was down turned in a scowl, as though he had set a livid look on his face but did not have the energy to keep it up. Narcissa guessed this could very well be so, for the entire family looked starved, their clothes torn and bloodied, and she suspected they had been tied there for at least three weeks without much sustenance.

The two children were also there, but were not tied down. They were hanging upside down in the air, slowly rotating in the middle of the room, in plain view of Edgar. Their arms and legs appeared bound together, for the children were rigid and straight-backed, though they appeared to be asleep for their eyes were closed and their mouths were hanging open. They would have looked almost peaceful, had their cheeks not been a bright red from consistent blood rush to the head. The woman Narcissa recognised as Edgar's wife, Louisa, was in a sobbing heap on the floor, conscious and untied. She was wearing a yellow summer dress which would have once been bright, except it was dirtied and covered in splashes of dark brown liquid which would once have been bright red. Her dark brown hair was lank, hanging around her face like lengths of rope. She was staring up at her children, the look of utter desperation in her eye. That maternal need to protect her young.

"Ah, my faithful followers. How pleased I am that you could join me on such short notice," whispered a voice directly behind Narcissa. She screamed, and swiftly covered her mouth with her hand, forgetting for a moment that she could not be heard or seen. Heart pounding, she moved back into the nearest wall, away from the voice.

The voice came from a man – or something that may have once resembled a man – in the corner of the room. He was sitting in an armchair of brown leather, his spidery fingers contemplatively pressed together. Despite the human-like appearance, there was something about him, about his aura, which was wholly inhuman. He was clad in plain black robes, in harsh contrast against his deathly pale skin. His cheeks were sunken, his complexion sallow, head bald and nose little more than just two nostrils carved into the stoic mask of marble which was the thing's face. His eyes were dark, almost black, though there was a certain hint of red within them.

For a heart-stopping moment, Narcissa thought that the man-thing was staring directly at her, following her movements to the nearest wall, and she felt her blood running cold, tears of fear prickling in her eyes. His eyes seemed to be everywhere; he seemed to see everything. She wanted to leave, she wanted to go, she didn't want to be under the gaze of this _thing _anymore. It was beyond her worst nightmares.

"Well, lower your hoods like proper guests. Let your host see you," the man-thing hissed, and Narcissa noticed the way he drew out his S's and C's, snake-like. She started as she heard a rustling sound to the left of her, and snapped her head around to see the cause.

She had completely missed the flock of cloaked figures around the mantelpiece, for they were all standing where the light of the fire could not reach. Now that they began to lower their hoods, Narcissa could see the flickering light dancing over their pale, sallow faces, and counted at least twelve of them, some she recognised, some she did not. She knew that Professor Malfoy would inevitably be there, for it was his memory, but it did not stop her stomach plummeting through the floor. She guessed it would reach the very bottom of the Pensieve before it stopped.

_What are you going to do, Professor?_

"Even Lucius," the man-thing in the corner hissed, and the amusement in its voice was evident. "I am surprised. You have managed a way to get out of the castle unnoticed?"

It was a while before Lucius spoke. He seemed as surprised as Narcissa at the sight of the man-thing in the corner of the room, but looked upon the monstrosity as though it was something he recognised from long ago. Like an old friend who had changed immensely over the years. His eyes were flicking constantly from the man-thing to the children suspended in mid-air, to the conscious man in the chair who simply continued glaring at the creature in the corner, and then back to the man-thing. His nose was wrinkled slightly, as though in distaste, and Narcissa could guess why; it being just a memory, the smells of the room were lessened than they would have been in real life, yet the smell of stale odour, excretion and unwashed human still prevailed in her nostrils.

"Yes, my Lord," Professor Malfoy replied finally. For a moment Narcissa was surprised at the way in which he addressed the pale creature. Surely he would never call anyone a Lord. Surely he, Lucius Malfoy, would never acknowledge anyone as being higher in the social hierarchy than he. Narcissa noticed that he was holding his left forearm, as though in pain.

The man-Lord-thing – which she deduced was Lord 'Voldemort', according to the Daily Prophet - appeared to notice this also. "Ah, yes, you have not yet experienced my call, have you, Lucius? I am pleased you had sense enough to apparate straight to me."

Professor Malfoy inclined his head, respectfully.

"Gentlemen whom I have not seen for some time, may I introduce to you" – Lord Voldemort extended his long, bony fingers towards Edgar Bones. – "our snake. The one reporting our activities to the Ministry for Magic. If you will forgive me for the setting, I and my Death Eaters _taking care _of the Bones' thought it would be better to bring the family back to their home for tonight's proceedings. We wouldn't want them to attract attention to Nott's house anymore."

There was a shifting of materials as the Death Eaters moved restlessly, as though angered at being in the same room as the man. Edgar merely continued glaring at Lord Voldemort, while Louisa's sobs intensified.

"Mrs. Bones, where are your manners? Your guests have come a long way to be here. They must be thirsty. Offer them drinks," the voice of Lord Voldemort spoke mildly, though the threat behind it was obvious. It was amazing to Narcissa how he could sound so cordial, yet it was that amiability which shot fear into her heart for Louisa.

Still staring up at her children, the woman did not immediately respond. She choked out a dry sob, seeming to have used up all her tears already. Her stare turned very slowly upon Lord Voldemort, and it wavered, her eyelids slowly closing as though to sleep. She did look exhausted, her face pale with a sickly yellow tinge, her eyes surrounded by blackness.

Quicker than Narcissa could register, Lord Voldemort had removed his wand from the sleeve of his robes – _the same place I keep it _– and had slashed it wordlessly through the air. The woman shouted out in pain, her head jerking to the side with a deep gash in her cheek. It oozed blood onto the floor and onto her dress.

"Leave my wife alone, you bastard!" Edgar shouted at the remorseless creature.

"Drinks, Mrs. Bones," was all he said, as she raised a trembling hand to her face, trying to stem the blood flow. She stumbled to her feet and scurried through the door adjacent to where Narcissa stood, presumably to the kitchen.

Narcissa realised that she had been holding her breath, her hand clamped over her mouth, and breathed in a deeply, only to cough at the smell. It was horrific.

"I have gathered you all here tonight so you may witness first-hand what is to happen to the people who question the power of your Lord, and also to see one another face to face. I am sure not many of you have met Lucius, who has been doing my bidding for longer than all of you." Narcissa saw Lucius' lips twitch into a smug smile. "It is dear Lucius here who discovered Mr. Bones as the Ministry informant, as well as the existence of the Order of the Phoenix," Lord Voldemort explained to the rest of his followers. They turned to look at Professor Malfoy, some with respect and others with what looked like jealousy. Narcissa tried to recognise as many faces as she could while all was quiet for the moment: the dark, thick eyebrows and square jaw of a Flint; a man who looked remarkably like the older version of William Nott; another man with the pointed nose and haughty demeanour of an Avery; two burly men who looked incredibly alike in beefiness and blank expressions whom Narcissa was sure would have the surnames Crabbe and Goyle; even someone she recognised from photographs in her mother's photo album, a relative on the Rosier side of the family. Why would all these people be fraternising with this _thing?_ "Quite the help you have been, Lucius. It must have been difficult to worm such information out of Albus. I may soon come to think of you as my most loyal follower."

Professor Malfoy's head rose, as though in pride. "Thank you, my Lord," he murmured silkily. Nearly everyone around him looked quite envious now.

"My Lord, he is not the only one whose actions should win your favour," another cloaked figure cut in, stepping forward. Narcissa noticed Edgar's face finally turn from Lord Voldemort, setting his sight on the face of the man who just spoke. There was a hint of betrayal behind the furious glare in Edgar's eyes.

Lord Voldemort did likewise, his narrow eyes setting on the protesting follower. His hair was greasy and unkempt, his eyes small and dark, and there was a fair amount of stubble shadowing his chin. Next to Professor Malfoy he looked like something which had just crawled from the gutter.

"Ah, yes, Dolohov, of course. Because your contributions to our cause have been nothing but helpful, in trusting Mr. Bones here with information of our organisation. How could I have forgotten you?" Lord Voldemort's voice was still smooth, a gentle hiss, though the dark threat beneath was all the more evident. The rest of the Death Eaters, save Professor Malfoy who merely smirked, chortled and jeered under their breaths as the man so called Dolohov flushed and looked down.

"I did not know he was working for Dumbledore or the Ministry for Magic, my Lord," he muttered dully.

It was possibly the perfectly calm demeanour of Lord Voldemort which scared Narcissa most. He seemed to have no emotion whatsoever. Even when he raised his wand and whispered, "_Crucio,"_ no sign of any feeling flickered over that pallid complexion.

Dolohov's screaming came instantaneously. He doubled up and sank to his knees, his limbs flailing and head thrown back in a cry of utmost terror. He fell onto his side, twitching and writhing in utter agony, his screaming indicative of the excruciating pain. The other Death Eaters moved away from him, their eyes flicking between Dolohov and their Lord. For the first time, Narcissa noticed how Professor Malfoy looked scared, just before she noticed her eyes were brimming with frightened tears. Her legs gave way and she sank to the ground, choosing to witness the proceedings from the floor lest she passed out. She was not used to men appearing so weak. A man showing such pain was unusual to her, who had grown up taught that men were the strongest of all creatures, powerful and to be heeded at all times. To stare upon Dolohov's tears, his mouth wide as he shrieked, scared her more than Lord Voldemort himself.

By the time Lord Voldemort had lifted his wand away and brought an end to the curse, the children and their grandparents had awoken. Seemingly haven used up all of their own screams and tears, they merely watched, the children still slowly rotating. Louisa stood in the doorway leading to the kitchen, a tray with glasses of water shaking in her little hands.

"Ah, how gracious of you, Mrs. Bones," Lord Voldemort declared, as she cautiously approached and placed the tray on the mantelpiece. She kept her head down so not to look at the faces of any of the Death Eaters. "I have told you before, my faithful followers," Lord Voldemort continued as Dolohov was pulled to his feet by Crabbe and Goyle. He looked exceptionally pale, like he was about to be sick. "That to please me will bring great rewards. But, if you prove to be a liability you will be punished.

"Now." Lord Voldemort rose from his chair, a fluid motion which looked like a fish darting in water. He was tall, perhaps just a little shorter than Professor Malfoy, but enough to loom over the bound form of Edgar. He traced his wand over the man's face. "Such a pity, Mr. Bones, that you have such a strong sense of duty to Albus Dumbledore. You have managed to keep you and your family in captivity for over a month without giving in and denouncing your faith in him. Admirable."

Edgar stared up into Lord Voldemort's face, his mouth set into a scowl. His voice was hoarse and raspy, as though from misuse. "You shall never defeat Albus. You will not rise to power, and I will help make sure of it. My entire family and I are dedicated to the cause."

Narcissa's head snapped to the Death Eaters as they chortled darkly. She noticed that Louisa, who was still lingering by the mantelpiece, unsure of what to do with herself, did not seem to agree with Edgar's words. Her face betrayed an expression of hurt. Narcissa could see why, for if her husband chose a withered old fool over her in such a situation, she would not be particularly happy either.

"Ah, yes, this lovely family of yours. Quite charming, aren't they, Mr. Bones?" He looked over at Edgar's parents, touching Nancy's face with his fingertips.

Nancy recoiled and whimpered. "Please don't hurt my wife," Daniel murmured just as hoarsely as his son, eyes flickering around as though uncertain where to fix them. They didn't seem to agree with Edgar's resolute obedience to Professor Dumbledore either.

"Tell me," hissed Lord Voldemort, looking back to Edgar. His fingers continued to stroke Nancy's cheek. "How long until that changes? How long can you let your family endure before your loyalty to Albus Dumbledore expires?"

"Never," Edgar growled. It what seemed like a lot of effort, for he appeared highly dehydrated, he spat at the Lord's feet.

Lord Voldemort regarded Edgar quite moderately for a moment. They way he did so forcibly reminded Narcissa of one summer when a dragon fly had flown in through Bellatrix's bedroom window. The look in his eyes as he stared at Edgar was reminiscent of the one she had bestowed upon the bug, right before she began to pull its wings off. "_Surrectum,"_ he whispered, merely twitching his wand.

The invisible ropes which bound Edgar appeared to move, for the effects of them physically tightening around his flesh was quite evident. He winced but allowed no sound of pain to be emitted, until the ropes appeared to wrap around his neck. He breathed in deeply, only to choke on the inhalation as the ropes tightened, constricting around his windpipe. He tried his hardest not to struggle, but his survival instincts caused him to twitch and writhe in his chair, gasping for air like a fish out of water, about to succumb to a fisherman's knife. Narcissa could see his throat being crushed under the force of the constrictions, and jerked her hands up to hide her face behind them, only to realise that she was too absorbed in wanting to know what happened next that she couldn't bring herself to do it.

"No!" shouted Louisa, from over by the fireplace. She jerked forwards, as though she was about to try and help her husband.

"Karkaroff, restrain her," Lord Voldemort commanded simply, not taking his eyes from Edgar. A Death Eater beside the woman with a straggly goatee and long, dark hair immediately lashed out, one hand clamping over Louisa's mouth and the other grabbing her wrist. He was obviously strong, for she immediately stilled, glancing reproachfully at him before returning to look in horror at her husband.

Edgar's eyes were rolling up into the back of his head by now, his children sobbing softly for their father and his parents whispering, "Please, please stop this." The sounds escaping his gaping mouth were like those of someone screaming underwater, and his body was thrashing in the throes of imminent death. However, Lord Voldemort seemed to decide that he didn't want Edgar falling into darkness yet, for when he released the curse and the ropes around Edgar's neck disappeared, Narcissa would bet everything in her father's Gringotts vault that it was not because of the continuous pleas of Edgar's family.

As Edgar gasped, choking upon deep breaths but sucking them in like bread given to a starved man, Lord Voldemort left him, instead pacing idly to where the children were, levitated and rotating in the middle of the room. He stared up at them with polite interest, as though he had never seen them before.

"Now, Mr. Bones, I, above all, am a merciful Lord," Lord Voldemort spoke, slowly and clearly, as he stared up at the children, "and I am willing to forget your previous mistakes against me if only you join me. Become one of my followers, and I shall allow you and your family to see another day." Through ragged breaths Edgar stared up at the Lord, trembling. "Otherwise." He said nothing else. He didn't have to.

Edgar seemed to physically struggle with this proposal. His head turned to look at his parents, who were staring resolutely at the ground. He looked up at his children, still slowly turning, and over to his petrified wife. His brow furrowed and he bowed his head. "I cannot. My allegiance is with Albus Dumbledore."

Lord Voldemort waited patiently, as though expecting Edgar to change his mind at any moment. "_Crucio,"_ he hissed simply. The little boy, Alfred, immediately started shrieking. His body writhed and his mouth opened wide in a high-pitched scream. Tears tracked steadily down Narcissa's cheeks as she watched. The boy was making words within his cries, screaming for his papa, who stayed silent. He was staring hard at the ground.

"Leave them alone, you bastard, this is between us. Leave them out of it," Edgar spat at Voldemort, though the venom in his words was lost for he was still glaring at the floor. It was as though he was trying to block out his child imploring for his help.

Narcissa couldn't understand. Surely no allegiance, to anyone, meant more to someone than their own children. Yet there Edgar Bones was, staring at the ground with his parents crying silently at his side, his wife making high-pitched shrieks at her baby's pain. She was fighting against the grip of the Death Eater holding her. "Edgar, stop this now!" she pleaded, desperate, but Edgar seemed to not hear her.

How long the torture of Alfred lasted for was unknown to Narcissa, though by the time it stopped her tears had stopped, for she had none left. The boy had stopped screaming, and was only writhing and twitching, head lolling as he continued to rotate. He seemed to have passed out from the pain. Clearly bored without the sounds of mutilation, Lord Voldemort turned his wand upon the girl. "_Crucio."_

The cycle repeated. Edgar's tears were falling by now, straight down onto the carpet. He refused to look up. The girl was biting her lip to stop herself from screaming, as though to not hurt her father anymore, but by the time she'd bitten hard enough to bleed she could no longer contain it. The shriek was just as loud as her brother's, just as desperate to be saved. Still, Edgar did not break. Narcissa didn't know who she hated more, Lord Voldemort or Edgar. By the looks of it Louisa was suffering from the same dilemma.

When the girl was barely conscious, the curse was stopped. Stephanie's eyes were almost fully-lidded and her breathing was ragged. Lord Voldemort sighed, but it sounded mocking, as though for Edgar to have given up anytime before now would have disappointed him. The Lord reached out and touched the little girl's face, who whimpered and tried to move away, but she clearly had no energy left. She looked as though she was knocking at death's door. Louisa was still struggling against the grip of the Death Eater holding her, more desperately as Lord Voldemort traced his forefinger over Stephanie's brow, down her cheek and over her lips. "Nagini," he stated simply.

Narcissa wondered if this was some kind of password, or some foreign insult, for a moment, before she saw it. Moving. It slithered across the floor, a dark shape coming from the kitchen. She moved as far back, as close to the wall as she could. It was visible only from its scales glowing softly in the firelight as slid across the living room carpet, otherwise it was just a winding mass of shadow.

The snake, easily twice as long as Narcissa's entire body and thicker than her too, slipped up its master's leg, winding around his body and coming to rest with its head on his shoulder. Even coiled around her master countless times, the tip of the snake's tail was at Lord Voldemort's ankle. It was hissing, what sounded like affectionate whispers coming from its flickering tongue.

"Dinner," Lord Voldemort whispered slyly, and extended his arm towards Stephanie. She snake slowly began to slide up his arm, towards the suspended girl, who remained silent, clearly without the energy to scream anymore for a saviour that would never come.

At this new threat, however, his daughter's imminent demise and the knowledge that his family would die before his eyes, Edgar finally cracked. "Stop it!" he cried, fighting against his invisible bonds, "I'll join you, I'll do your bidding, whatever you wish! Just don't hurt my daughter anymore! Don't hurt any of them anymore!"

Lord Voldemort inclined his head towards Edgar and hissed once. Nagini stopped, but remained on her master's arm, which he still held extended towards the child. "You will join me? You will denounce your faith to Albus Dumbledore and be under my command? Aid the coming of a new age of untainted Pureblood?"

"Yes!" Edgar declared, his eyes wide, "I'll do anything!"

Lord Voldemort seemed to consider this for a moment.

"My Lord," came Professor Malfoy's voice. He stepped forwards. Narcissa started for, having been watching the occurrence with bated breath, she had almost forgotten the Death Eaters were there, watching just as tensely. He appeared nervous. "They are just children. Surely you can-"

"Are you questioning me, Lucius?"

Professor Malfoy stopped. He shook his head. "No, my Lord."

"Good. Now. Mr. Bones, your loyalty to Albus Dumbledore above your own family is admirable. However, it seems it is not only he who you are loyal to. I cannot have traitors among my followers, and you have not proven yourself to be particularly trustworthy tonight. How easily you denounce your following of Albus Dumbledore, with merely a threat of the life of your child. Such a shame." He sighed heavily, mockingly. "You had potential. Now, Nagini."

The girl seemed to register the snake approach, for she writhed in her bonds, terrified tears falling down her forehead, but she could not seem to coax a scream from her heaving lungs. Edgar was shouting, pleading for his daughter's life – "Take me, take me, spare them!" – while the Death Eaters observed with gritted teeth, helpless.

Narcissa was crying, her hand over her mouth in horror, as the snake's mouth opened, wide, to swallow the girl's head, and-

"No!" shrieked Louisa Bones, suddenly. With strength that Narcissa would not have guessed of her in even a healthy state, she gripped the tray she had recently carried into the room with her free arm. With a sharp tug she pulled it from the mantelpiece. The glasses of water fell to the ground, smashing in a crescendo which startled every occupant of the room, and Louisa brought the tray up to hit, hard, into Karkaroff's face. He let out a strangled cry of pain, pulling back and letting go of the witch as the sharp edge of the tray cut into his face and the full force of her blow caused his nose to instantly become bloodied. "Get away from my daughter, you bastard!" she shrieked, lunging forwards.

Professor Malfoy, who was still in front of the other Death Eaters, turned to see the commotion and gripped Louisa's wrist as she tried to throw herself at Lord Voldemort. He held her arm, hard, as she made to push past him, halting her in her tracks.

"Get off me!" she bellowed at him and, when he didn't, swung her hand back. Before he could stop her, Louisa had swiped, her hand smacking his cheek with a sharp slapping sound. The brutality of the motion forced Professor Malfoy's head to the side in recoil, his eyes closing and mouth down-turned in an involuntary pained expression.

Professor Malfoy let go of her arm in favour of holding his smarting cheek, and Narcissa had to silently congratulate Louisa for her final attempt of protection. Professor Malfoy, however, seemed to have taken it quite to heart. Narcissa could tell that he was really nursing his hurt ego, and had to make himself asserted again. The stupid little witch had to learn a lesson, and receive what was coming to her. Narcissa knew what was going to happen even before Lord Voldemort confirmed it; "Kill her, Lucius."

Before Louisa could even reach her little girl, before she could even finish extending her arms to wrench the child away from the snake's advancing jaws, Professor Malfoy had unsheathed his wand from his cane and pointed it at the woman. His face was livid, his jaw set, his eyes alive with malice. It was not the Professor Malfoy that Narcissa knew. This was the man with steel in his eyes, with no humanity left in his cold stone of a heart. That became all too apparent when he growled, in such a malevolent whisper, "_Avada kedavra!"_

A flash of green light, the pulse of powerful magic. Louisa was dead before she hit the floor.

Narcissa heard herself scream. She stared up at Professor Malfoy with wide eyes. He was breathing heavily, a handprint still visible upon his cheek. He began to look steadily more bewildered as he stared down at Louisa Bones, as though hardly believing he had done it. He had killed her.

He was a killer.

A killer.

_A murderer._

There was a moment of utter silence. Nothing moved. Nothing made a noise. Then the only conscious child began to sob softly, whispering what should have been screams for her mother. Edgar bellowed for his wife, for his children's lives, cursing the heavens between dry sobs which wracked his entire body. Lord Voldemort was laughing softly. The snake slid forwards, its huge jaws finally settling on the child's head, who writhed but to no avail, for the snake seemed to be quite used to its prey being alive and wriggling. It pushed forwards with practised ease and took the girl's forehead into its mouth whole.

Edgar stared downwards, crying loudly and helplessly now, his eyes clenched shut, shouting how sorry he was as though to block out the petrified whimpers of his daughter. His parents were staring up at the scene, eyes wide but dry, jaws trembling. Their grief, their terror, was beyond response. They already looked as lifeless as Louisa's unseeing eyes.

Most of the Death Eaters were also staring up at the scene: a few, Narcissa noticed which made her stomach tighten, with a kind of voyeuristic pleasure in their eyes; a few looked quite indifferent, emotionless; a few were looking down or were averting their eyes in some other direction. Professor Malfoy was not looking up, but was staring down at the prone form of Louisa, as though wondering what on earth he had done.

The snake's work was slow and laborious. Narcissa could feel the acidic burn of bile rise up her throat, and had to clamp her hand over her mouth to keep it down. Edgar had stopped screaming, blinded by tears and whispering a trail of apologies. He was no longer struggling. He was a broken man, and there was no point for him. Not now.

"Kill the spares," Lord Voldemort murmured softly. The men who looked like a Nott, Avery and another which Narcissa had never seen any feature of before advanced, pulling their wands from inside their cloaks. With an almost unison whisper of the Killing Curse, Edgar's parents accepted their deaths without a whisper, looking up into their killers eyes before the light died from their own. They seemed almost thankful. The little boy's life was ended by Nott and his bindings seemed to disappear, for he fell in a crumpled heap on the floor, his eyelids parted slightly to reveal a sliver of the glassy eyes beneath. In a soft whisper, another Death Eater over by the hearth whispered the Killing Curse, and it hit the little girl. Her bindings also seemed to fall away, for she crashed to the ground, taking Nagini with her. The snake didn't seem to mind, however, for it just slithered off its master's arm and continued consuming its meal.

_At least one of them has an ounce of compassion. Better a quick and painless death._

The Lord didn't seem to mind the girl being killed quickly, for he said nothing, preferring to turn to Edgar instead. "And this," Lord Voldemort spoke softly, "is why you do not pledge your alliances to the likes of Albus Dumbledore." After allowing Nagini to completely unwind from him, the snake heaving and swallowing its current meal, he approached Edgar Bones. He cupped the man's face in his spidery fingers, lifting it. For an incredulous moment it looked so tender that Narcissa thought he was going to lean in and kiss Edgar. "For where is he now?"

Edgar stared up at Lord Voldemort. He was no longer crying, his grief beyond tears. He looked like a shell of a man. "Kill me," he whispered, "please."

Lord Voldemort smiled. A twisted, remorseless smile. "I told you I am merciful," he whispered, before turning his wand upon Edgar and, with a flash of green light, granting his wish.

* * *

><p>The room began to lurch and spin, Narcissa's vision blurring at the edges. She thought she was going to be sick, until the colours and shapes began to disappear and swirl into one another, being flung through the world of nameless figures and faceless shadows again with the rushing in her ears, until, with one almighty jolt, she was back on her feet, on hard ground.<p>

As soon as Narcissa found herself thrown back into Professor Malfoy's office, her knees buckled. She gripped the side of the Pensieve in a futile attempt to steady herself, but collapsed to the ground.

"Miss Black," came Professor Malfoy's voice, from so very far away. The room was swimming before her eyes, her head thudding and her stomach lurching. She felt, again, bile rising up her throat and retched, but found that nothing would come up since she had not eaten that day. Fresh tears were coursing down her cheeks and she sobbed hysterically, the cold air of the dungeons making the film of sweat covering her body even cooler and sending her limbs into fits of trembles and shudders.

"N-no," she gasped as Professor Malfoy leant down next to her. His eyes were wide, his brow furrowed. He looked scared. "Stay away from me. I-" She swallowed, gasped in a breath and, with what little strength remained in her, pushed his hand away at his attempt to touch her forehead. "I don't want you anywhere near me."

Professor Malfoy, seemingly torn between staying at Narcissa's side and doing as she wished, slowly rose. He swiftly moved over to his desk. Narcissa heard him open a drawer, but she had closed her eyes in an attempt to stop the room from spinning. It was pointless, for the darkness beneath her lids merely rocked and convulsed.

"Here," came Professor Malfoy's voice, and the feeling of something being pressed into her hand, "it will help with the shock." Narcissa, however, found that she couldn't move. She couldn't even open her eyes. She was lost in darkness, where all she could see were the last few moments of an entire family. She bit her lip to stop herself from screaming.

Seeming to understand, Professor Malfoy patiently leant down, wrapping his arm around Narcissa's shoulders and lifting her upper body. She felt herself loll in his hold, truly a ragdoll. His free hand wrapped around hers, his fingers so securely enveloping hers, and she felt her hand being pushed towards her lips. "Drink," he urged, as Narcissa felt the cool glass of the phial against her lower lip.

She parted her lips and felt the liquid trickle onto her tongue. It was so cold that it felt like it was piercing the inside of her mouth, but she didn't mind the pain. Anything to distract herself from thinking.

She remained in the crook of Professor Malfoy's arm for some time, sobbing quietly. She felt, under the influence of the potion, her nerves gradually begin to calm. The darkness had stopped moving, and was devoid of any images, so she risked opening her eyelids. She stared up into Professor Malfoy's face, hunched protectively over her, eyes narrowed in his scrutiny of her face. "You're a murderer," Narcissa breathed.

Professor Malfoy took a deep breath in and turned his head away. "I didn't mean to do it."

She laughed once. It was a shrill, unnatural sound which was too high and, accompanied by a face devoid of all happiness whatsoever, was very out of place. "Get away from me," she whispered. Professor Malfoy sighed and slowly rose, after making sure that she could support her own weight in sitting up on his office floor.

"I knew I should not have shown you," he muttered, as he left her and seated himself in his leather chair. He replaced the empty phial in the second drawer of his desk and snapped it shut.

Narcissa laughed bitterly and shakily moved up onto her knees, in an attempt to stand. Her legs, though weak, were not trembling as much, and she managed to pick herself up onto her feet and stagger to the chair opposite Professor Malfoy. She sank into it.

"So this dark cult thing. Death Eaters. It isn't just that?" she inquired weakly, trying to keep the tremor from her voice.

Professor Malfoy shook his head. "It is much more than that. Much more influential and much more powerful." He paused for a moment. "Much more dangerous."

"So I gathered," Narcissa muttered, "So this…Lord Voldemort. This is your leader? And you are working for him? Giving him information about Professor Dumbledore?"

He sighed. "I shouldn't be telling you this." He searched her expression and sighed again, irritably. "And the school, yes."

"Why?"

"Because Albus Dumbledore is a very powerful wizard. The Dark Lord needs to know his weaknesses, so that in his rise to power he – _we – _have the advantage."

"Is this the only reason you have the job in the first place?" she whispered hoarsely, fighting another sudden wave of nausea. "Have you been spying this whole time?"

Professor Malfoy seemed to contemplate answering this. And then nodded.

There was a tense silence. "Have you ever killed before?"

"No," he retorted sharply.

There was another tense pause. "So, what now, Professor?" she inquired meekly.

Professor Malfoy shrugged. He seemed agitated. "I suppose it is within your power. Everything. You decide whether I walk a free man or rot in Azkaban. Whichever you think I deserve."

"Oh I _know _what you deserve," Narcissa snapped.

Professor Malfoy inclined his head humbly in acknowledgement. "Though to allow me to live with this on my conscience may be a fate worse than death, Miss Black."

She considered this for a few moments, before realisation dawned on her. In her nervous, trembling state, she began to laugh. It was a high, hysterical laugh which sounded completely foreign to her. Through gasps of air, rubbing tears of mirth from her eyes, she choked out, "So is that why you fucked me-"

"Don't use such language, Miss Black."

"-so hard? Your conscience was killing you, so you thought you'd get it all out into me?"

Professor Malfoy looked down at his desk. He didn't answer.

Narcissa continued to laugh hysterically, but hollowly. She had been right. When Professor Malfoy had fucked her over his desk, he had been taken over by a brutal, emotionless Death Eater. Little did she know that the Death Eater was actually _he_. He, in that cold mask, who clearly needed a lithe little body to fuck to snap out of his murderous trance. That was all she was to him. All she had ever been. A toy, to provide him with some form of entertainment.

Somewhere along the line, Narcissa's tears of manic mirth turned to those of hurt and, again, fear. She slumped forwards, her head in her hands, shaking. She could feel Professor Malfoy's eyes on her contemplatively. She hoped that his guilt was _eating _him from the inside, just as it was consuming her, and every ounce of _something _she may have ever had for him.

He was a murderer.

_I thought he wanted me._

"If I informed Azkaban of the things you have done," Narcissa whispered, when she had calmed down enough to speak coherently. She still mumbled into her hands. "They would give you the Dementor's Kiss, wouldn't they?"

Narcissa heard Professor Malfoy's breath hitch just a little before he exhaled, long and low. "More than likely, yes."

She raised her head to look up at Professor Malfoy, only to find that it felt too heavy for her shoulders. She needed to lie down. She needed to sleep. Maybe in the morning this all would have been a nightmare, and Professor Malfoy wasn't a killer and Samuel Bones had all of his family alive and well and there was never any such thing as a Lord Voldemort. Maybe, if she wished hard enough, it would come true.

"I think I'm going to go to bed, Professor," she said dully, wiping her cheeks on the arm of her school robes. "I need to sleep on this. Excuse me if I'm too ill to come to your lesson tomorrow."

Professor Malfoy slowly nodded. "Wait," he murmured as she attempted to push herself out of the chair. He reopened his second drawer and pulled out another phial of the same very cold potion he had given her earlier, which she saw was a dazzlingly bright blue, and phial with a swirling, deep red potion inside. "Take a little of these each before you sleep. It will help to keep the dreams away."

Narcissa raised an eyebrow at him.

"Nightmares," he conceded.

She eyed the potions in his open palm for a moment before she leant in and snatched them from him. Without another word, she forced herself out of the chair and, thankfully having left her bag in her dormitory earlier that evening, stalked straight out of the door. She guessed that, in her current state, it would have just caused her to fall into a crumpled heap with the extra weight.

The common room was, thankfully, not all that far from Professor Malfoy's office. She leant on the wall of the dungeons for support, concentrating her every effort on putting one foot in front of the other, slipping the little phials beneath her school robes. If her mind wavered from focusing on moving her legs, she knew she'd fall onto the cold, hard floor and would most likely begin to cry and would not get up for the rest of the night. Would anyone miss her, though? She doubted it.

She shouted the password – "_Solanum Celastrus," _which Narcissa found difficult to pronounce at the best of times, let alone when she was trembling and half-choked by sobs – at the common room portrait repeatedly until it swung open, hissing indignantly. She attempted to make herself look presentable, more normal, as she half-staggered in, but there was really no need. Her usual group around the fire looked incredibly solemn indeed. They looked up as she entered, and sobered considerably more.

"What's happened?" Narcissa heard herself say. Was it Death Eaters? Death Eaters killed my entire family?

Bellatrix pointed to a letter. It looked harmless enough, sitting quite placidly on the seat of her usual chair, but the way that the rest of her acquaintances were looking at it seemed as though it may rear up and smite them all at any given opportunity. "Me and Andromeda got letters too. We assume they all pretty much say the same thing."

_It can't be any worse than what you saw tonight._

She picked up the letter and sank into the chair, tearing the envelope apart with trembling fingers. It was lucky really, for clearly everyone thought she was just shaking with nerves from anticipation of what could be within the envelope. Narcissa was more than conscious of everyone's eyes on her, however. She didn't like it.

As soon as she removed the letter from the envelope, she recognised her mother's handwriting and knew then it couldn't be good. She wasn't wrong.

_Narcissa,_

_Your father and I, naturally, have thought long and hard about a potential suitor for you. It seems that sending you to Hogwarts was beneficial after all, however, for parents of one Tobias Edwinus Crowley – supposedly in the year above you in Hogwarts if I heard them correctly – have recently contacted us, expressing their son's interest in you._

_They are a middle-class, respectable and Pureblood family. Tobias sounds a very well-mannered boy and very good husband and father material. He will go far, and make the head of a fine household. Too bad he is not more wealthy, but beggars and choosers etcetera._

_We have already signed the marriage certificate on your behalf. You are to be married next year, after his graduation. You will have no reason to continue your studies in Hogwarts with a husband, so you also shall not enrol past next year._

_You are hereby betrothed, Narcissa. Your father and I have taught you how to behave to a husband, and we expect you to begin here. First impressions are everything, Narcissa, and we do not want his family pulling away from this agreement. He is a perfect suitor. It is most convenient._

_Respect and honour him like a good wife._

_With kind regards,_

_Druella_

Narcissa's breath caught in her throat. She read the letter once. And then again. And then again.

"No," she whispered, "it can't be true." She looked over the piece of paper at the regretful expressions of her sisters, the sober complexion of Rodolphus as he idly blew smoke from a Flintley's into the hearth. Only Maurice looked somewhat indifferent at the proceedings, as though Narcissa should be overjoyed at the news.

_It's a sick joke. A sick joke. No one would ever really write to their parents _demanding _a girl's hand in marriage. They wouldn't._

But then, her mother never joked. Ever. And it was most certainly her mother's tidy, precise handwriting. Just how she liked everything, tidy and precise, including her daughters. Or the only daughter who would listen. A tidy and precise wedding for a tidy and precise girl to produce a tidy and precise family. Mrs. Narcissa Crowley.

_Mrs. Narcissa Crowley._

She wanted to crumple the letter up and throw it into the flames. She wanted to stamp and scream and set Crowley on fire until there was nothing left but smouldering embers of him and his marriage agreement. She wanted to curl up and die.

"See, Cissa," said a voice directly behind her chair. Or was it somewhere in the deep, dark recesses of her mind? The room began to swim before her eyes, her vision becoming hazy and darkening at the sides. She fell back into the armchair, feeling very heavy and very numb. Her head lolled and her eyes closed, and all she could hear as she passed out was, "I told you I will have you."

* * *

><p><strong>I had trouble writing this chapter. Dire writer's block. But I wanted to get something done so let me know what you think.<strong>

**Note**: _Solanum Celastrus _is the Latin name of a poisonous flowering plant called Bittersweet. I thought it may be fitting, a little for the Slytherin common room.

**As always, thank you for reading thus far. c: **


	13. Chapter 13

**To all of my dear readers and reviewers – you make me stupidly happy, you are beautiful people and I love you all.**

**I hope you enjoy.~**

* * *

><p>It was safe to say that Narcissa didn't smile much over the next few weeks, which prowled onwards relentlessly. Safer to say, in fact, that he thought she would never smile again.<p>

She felt hollow, as though her soul and every rational emotion was still stuck in Professor Malfoy's office, in his Pensieve, in that _memory. _She had cried countless times over it at night before she slept, often turning into hysterical laughter, to the point where she had to cast a sound-proofing charm on her bed. She dreamt of running, being chased by an infinite mass of writhing, spitting snakes, led on by the one she had seen from that night. She was plagued by the words "Nagini, dinner," being whispered in her ear. She would wake up with a start and tears in her eyes, wishing she could hold her pillow to her, but to embrace a connotation of Professor Malfoy was more than she could bear.

She hoped he was going through the same torture. She didn't deserve it. Narcissa was innocent! – _Was. I wonder how long I would get in Azkaban for guilt by association. _– Yet he, Professor Malfoy, seemed unchanged. Still just a stoic Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, a figure at the front of the class who the girls fawned over and the boys wanted to be. Nothing had changed. Even Samuel Bones had returned to school sometime in February, and Professor Malfoy had looked him in the eye. Straight in the eye, with no hint of remorse or even apology.

_Then why can't be look at me like that? Why does he always turn away? He is clearly an unashamed and cold-hearted bastard if he can look upon the boy whose family he killed, so why can't he bear me?_

Narcissa didn't know why she didn't go to Professor Dumbledore, at least. Shipping Professor Malfoy straight to Azkaban in shackles with a shaven head seemed a much more appealing thought. Allowing him to rot as an empty, soulless shell in a cold room behind iron bars with Dementors prowling around him and not a single happy thought for the rest of his miserable existence may have assuaged her just a little. Every time she thought of him she felt cold, like she had walked through a ghost. He scared her. Yet still, no matter how much she wanted to shout his crimes from the Astronomy Tower, she couldn't open her mouth and tell one person. It was as though he still had some sort of hold over her. Narcissa hated it.

She had spent no more time alone with Professor Malfoy since being in his office. It had taken her over a week to return to going to his classes, or to look up from her plate in the Great Hall for fear he would be up at the teacher's table. She didn't want to look at him. Maurice had noticed her strange behaviour and commented on it regularly, but did nothing more in an attempt to help her. She called it attention-seeking, and told her that she would have more luck seeking it from Crowley.

Much to her parent's surprise, Narcissa had not kicked and screamed at their marriage arrangement. She sent a letter of a single line, pleading them to reconsider, but other than that she did not have the strength to protest. Her parents, of course, wrote an essay-length letter which, in essence, said 'No'. In a strange way, Narcissa didn't really mind. The thought of something stable in her life was something resembling a comfort.

She and Crowley had agreed to keep the betrothal secret for the time being. It did not, however, stop him from parading her around like the trophy wide she was destined to become. It also did not stop him lavishing her with gifts she did not want, need or care for. At one point, he had slipped an engagement ring on her finger. Narcissa was sure he had gotten down on one knee to present it to her, but she didn't remember. She didn't remember much. She just knew that it was cumbersome and heavy and at least one size too big for her dainty fingers, a huge golden ring encrusted with little rubies. It was clearly a family heirloom, and Crowley's family did not seem to be as slim as him.

Even in the weeks after the night in Professor Malfoy's office, she found herself becoming dependent on the potions he had given her. Rooms span frequently and Narcissa felt light-headed more often than not. Her sisters had noticed something off and so took their respective roles: Bellatrix recurrently demanded to know what was wrong, while Andromeda would bite back that Narcissa would tell them when she was ready. How she wished, just once, that someone would simply ask how she was.

March descended swiftly upon the castle, bringing with it the freshness of spring. The very air smelt of new life. Professor Kettleburn had taken to being very enthusiastic about his student's studies in his lesson, revitalised by the assortment of baby magical creatures which were being squeezed out or hatching, and so set them a lot more homework. In fact, the swiftly approaching O.W.L.s exams meant that every teacher was giving the fifth-years an inordinate amount of homework, which Narcissa did not have the energy to do. She would be dragged out of school next year, so what was the point? She barely had the energy to get out of bed, let alone raise quill to parchment. Everything seemed so meaningless after she had watched an entire family die. She observed people in the common room at night spending over half an hour trying to work out a single line of runes, or complaining about Professor McGonagall's lesson that day, and wanted to tell them to stop wasting their lives. Again, though, she didn't mind the workload, for it exhausted her physically and mentally and therefore she was often too overcome by tiredness to dream when she went to bed, which was a small mercy. It also gave her excuse to reject Crowley's sexual advances, which was a bigger mercy. Since the news of their 'arrangement' he had been trying to pester his way between her legs, at first dropping little hints and becoming all the more insistent. She refused to give in to him.

Narcissa felt like she was trapped in some dark, dank corner with no sign of light anywhere. Everyone around her were mindless figures, faceless voices speaking languages she couldn't understand. She needed to escape. She needed to get away.

She couldn't do it anymore.

* * *

><p>Lucius raised his hand to yawn behind it. He was alone in his office, but that did not give him reason to not be gentlemanly. He hunched his shoulders forwards before stretching his limbs out, bringing his hands to rub his eyelids as he let himself relax.<p>

The past few months had not been kind to him in the slightest. He had lost a fair amount of weight, giving his handsome, youthful face a somewhat gaunt look. Every time he absently brushed his fingers across his chin it rasped from neglect, tribute to Lucius' recent lackadaisical nature. His hair, though brushed to its usual sheen, was not conditioned as much as usual and there were rings under his eyes, growing darker with every night he didn't sleep well, which was every night in general. His dreams had begun getting more intense, more real, yet still when he woke he could never remember them. It was most frustrating, but there was no doubt in his mind that it was because of that night.

_That night. Ugh._

The night in the Bones' house caused so much more trouble than it should have. He should never have shown it to Miss Black. He was constantly on edge, nervous at every knock at the door. Every time someone tapped on the wooden entrance of his office his mind immediately sped to Albus flanked by two Dementors to apprehend him, Miss Black behind them meekly watching him as he got his soul sucked out of his mouth. If he was honest with himself, he half wished that Miss Black _would _tell the guards of Azkaban, purely so he could live without the apprehension he felt every day at the mere prospect. In fact, he wished that she would tell the guards of Azkaban full stop. At least then he would be without a conscience, supposedly the voice of the soul. And without that he would no longer be being consumed from the inside for what he had done.

To look Master Bones in the eye when he had returned to school was almost too much for Lucius. He looked so much like Nancy that it was like seeing her being killed all over again. He was not proud of that night, quite the opposite, and he wished that he could retract it. Though, while he was pondering wishes that would never come true, he wished he could retract _everything_. Everything with the Dark Lord. He wished he had never met Tom Riddle in that dingy little pub. At least that way Lucius would have almost been telling the truth when he told the rest of the staff he was also worried for the Muggles and Mudbloods that were going missing. Granted, he meant it when he conceded in the staff room that he was growing concerned about Lord Voldemort; that night of the Bones' deaths, he had barely recognised the Dark Lord. When he last saw him face to face some six years ago, the Dark Lord had seemed slightly strange in appearance but nothing compared to the ashen, pale _thing _which had reigned in that sitting room. He had become completely inhuman, and his demeanour had become likewise. His actions towards the Bones family clarified that; remorseless, relentless, regretless. Any thoughts that Lucius had begun having about pulling out of being a follower were quenched simply at the Dark Lord's power, for he guessed he would not last long if he fancied handing in his resignation notice as a Death Eater.

Apart from that, though, he was getting tired of hiding behind the face of a very good actor. It got tedious and he was getting far too brilliant at it.

_Except around Miss Black._

Ah. Yes. Except around Miss Black. As much as he tried to stare her in the eye and be the last to look away, he could not seem to do it. Another infliction on his conscience, perhaps. All he saw when he looked at her was her trembling form, prone in his arms on the floor of his office because of the things that she had witnessed from that memory. _His _memory. If anything, that mental image affected him more than remembering the final moments of each of the Bones. He told himself it was because he had inflicted it on her which caused the guilt he felt. He told himself that it was because he was her teacher, and as such was meant to be protecting her. He forgot to tell himself he had started avoiding her eyes before he had shown her the memory. That would only complicate matters.

Lucius sighed in aggravation. He did not need the distractions. He was attempting to focus on marking the latest essays from his seventh-years but, funnily enough, at that moment he was not finding page after repeated page of 'Attributes of Dragons and How to Defend Oneself Against Them' particularly enthralling. Still, he soldiered on, eyes skimming over the page and quill, already dipped in red ink, poised above the page. He held his forehead on his outstretched fingers, elbows on the desk, in an attempt to keep his gaze down and attentive.

_The Chinese Lung (Draco orientalis magnus) is a water dragon most commonly found in underwater craves around south-east Asia, where they hoard the opals and pearls they collect. Like most dragons, their main forms of attack are their horns, teeth and claws, and, with their streamlined bodies, this can prove to be most formidable if they are approached underwater. To combat them a mirror is an effective option, due to their narcissistic nature, and_

Lucius stopped. He felt something heavy fall out of his stomach through the floor. His eyes flicked back to the certain word which had caught his attention. Yes. There it was. Narcissistic.

_Narcissistic._

Lucius nearly cursed, pushing away from his desk and irritably standing. He began to pace. He couldn't escape her! She was messing with his head. He didn't know how, but Miss Black was doing something to him. She must have been, to create this strange sense of want within him. An odd sense of yearning which was so familiar since he experienced it every time he saw her. Every time. Again, he put it down to guilt, to being her teacher, and that was all it ever would be.

_Ever!_

Yet still he had to tell himself that he was not just neglecting looking after his physical appearance because he was missing Miss Black. Though after he had to tell himself he didn't know why he did, since of course he didn't miss her. She was just a student, and nothing more. That was it. Just a student.

_Then why haven't you stopped thinking of her since the start of the year?_

He paused in his pacing. He really had to stop thinking of Miss Black. The amount of time he pondered her, that lithe little body of hers, her face, her laugh, was unhealthy. He decided that thoughts of her stroking his hair at night, coaxing him into slumber, didn't count because if they did then he would probably have crossed the none too thin line between unhealthy and stalker.

He raised his hand and pressed his eyes against his fingertips and thumb. What is she doing to me?

Lucius vaguely heard the squeak of the handle as his office door opened. It was pushed with such force that it slammed into the wall and pounded back into its frame, groaning softly. Reminiscence of that night when Miss Black had entered his office in an all too similar way threatened to overwhelm him, so he turned all of his attention to the entrant.

Miss Black – not the Miss Black Lucius was hoping for. The oldest Miss Black. Miss Bellatrix Black. – was storming towards him. She looked livid, past the point of enraged. Her eyes were wide, her pupils tiny in the dark brown retinas which would have made it hard to tell had she not been cannoning towards him at ridiculous speed. Her hair was dishevelled and her hands were in rather large fists.

"Miss Bl-" Lucius began, but she had already grabbed his robes just under his chin and forced him back against the shelves at the back of the room. Lucius groaned in pain as the sudden actions winded him, and he felt at least two shelves snap against his spine at the force with which Miss Black shoved him against them. Instruments for detecting the dark arts scattered around him, their spindly parts snapping and breaking. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" Lucius choked out, trying to regain his breath. Around his neck, the snake brooch which held his robes together hissed indignantly at the man-handling.

Despite Bellatrix Black being at least five inches or so shorter than Lucius, the way in which she stared up at him almost made him quaver. He gazed back down however, as though politely interested, ignoring the splinters of wood pressing painfully into his back. The longer they stared, the easier he found it to maintain his gaze, and Miss Black was the first to waver. She blinked, snarled and bunched her fists tighter around the clothes at Lucius' neck. They felt painfully constricting, but he said nothing, merely waited.

"You know what, you bastard," Bellatrix whispered softly. It was probably the softness that made Lucius' brow furrow in concern for his own safety. Her voice had a gentle lilt which was not befitting of her wide eyes, her flared nostrils and her bared teeth.

"I'm afraid I don't know what it is I have done to offend you, Miss Black," Lucius replied levelly, keeping his voice calm, "thus perhaps you would care to enlighten me."

Miss Black leant in, close to Lucius' face. When she breathed he could smell cinnamon and resisted cringing away in disdain. Her soft growl was enough to tear his attention away from her breath, however. "My sister. That's what you've _done."_

Lucius' first thought, as the flicker of exasperation crossed his face, was, _Must everyone around here be so crude? _And then the fear kicked in. It clenched his stomach painfully tight and he felt the pressure of Miss Black's fist on his windpipe all the more. His chest felt agonisingly constricted.

So Miss Narcissa Black had finally told her eldest sister. No doubt to get back at him. But then how much more did she know? Did Miss Bellatrix Black know that he was a Death Eater? A killer? Or maybe it was Master Lestrange who told her. Either way, he knew if he got out of his current situation with everything intact he was a lucky man.

"What are you talking about, Miss Black?" Lucius uttered. He was surprised how sincere he sounded.

Miss Black, however, laughed shrilly at his attempt. It was a loud, tittering laugh which shot the promise of a shiver up his spine. He resisted, for he was still very conscious of the very sharp pieces of wood digging into his back. "You know exactly what I'm talking about, _Professor," _she snarled, her addressing of him soaked in sarcasm. "In here, with my sister on your lap."

For a moment, Lucius was about to ask which time that was, but held his tongue. The specification of Miss Black suggested she only knew about one time. Funnily enough that happened to be the time that Master Lestrange walked in on them. _Bastard._

Miss Black however, in being sharp of her bodily features but even sharper of mind, registered Lucius' hesitation and guessed what he was about to say. "How many times have you been with her?" she snarled.

Lucius didn't answer, staring at her stoically. Miss Black's teeth bared wider, showing the little points of her canines. Gripping Lucius' cloak and shirt harder still, her knuckles turning white, Miss Black dragged Lucius away from the broken shelves and thrusted him haphazardly into his chair. She stood in front of him, staring down her curved, pointed nose at him, and pulled her wand from a leather holster at her belt. She pointed it threateningly at him.

"Miss Black," Lucius murmured coolly, trying to tell himself he was completely unafraid of her, "I think that you should leave now." He sat up straight and fixed his crumbled cloak and shirt beneath his chin, stroking a crease out of his arm. He stared at her mildly, unconcernedly, with cold eyes and a just as cold expression. His muscles were complaining, bruised from where he had just been shoved so hard against the shelves, but he wouldn't allow it to show.

Miss Black smiled even more widely. _"Legilimens,"_ she whispered.

Lucius felt tendrils of foreign thought creep into his skull, attempting to pervade the walls of his mind, but the boundaries of his own consciousness were like an iron curtain, protecting his innermost thoughts. He was as skilled at Occlumency as he was at Legilimency, therefore the defensive measures around his mind were already there when Miss Black invaded and attempted to infiltrate the labyrinth of his brain.

Miss Black was somewhat tentative at first, pushing against the walls, as though thinking she could easily strike down his armour and be free to browse his subconscious. When she found she was met, wordlessly and wandlessly, by defences of steel, she began to pound ruthlessly on the walls with her own consciousness, attempting to find a weakness and take command. At one point she pulled away, as though about to give up, only to ram the battery of her thoughts back into his mind. Her Trojan Horse didn't succeed.

Eventually, sulking, Miss Black pulled the fingers of her mind from Lucius', conceding defeat. She was not finished, however. "So you admit it? You had sex with my sister? My Cissy?"

Lucius continued staring mildly. "Who told you?"

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours," Bellatrix sang playfully. The wrathful fire in her eyes made sure Lucius didn't lower his guard. "Just let me in."

He stared at her, scrutinizing her. He had to know who told her, since the twist in her lips was worrying and seemed quite indicative that someone had got hurt. _What if she hurt Narcissa? I wouldn't put it past her. What if she hurt Narcissa?_

Pushing the idea away, for he would have to use all of his concentration to control the prying, grabbing hands of Miss Black's consciousness, he nodded once, curtly. "Fine. Show me who told you."

Miss Black repeated the spell and Lucius felt the familiar tendrils of foreign thought brushing against the defences of his mind. He slowly lowered the protective wall around his consciousness, careful to not let it go completely, and allowed Miss Black to push forth her own thoughts among his.

_It was the early hours of that day, the first Saturday morning of March._

_There was little sound from all of the dormitories in Slytherin house, every occupant sleeping calmly and soundly, save a select few who preferred the early hours of the morning to strike at each other. Bellatrix and Rodolphus happened to be two of those people._

_Rodolphus finished with a deep, guttural growl_ – Lucius cringed and sneered, for he could have quite happily lived without ever seeing that_. – and rolled off of Bellatrix who looked quite indifferent towards the entire proceedings. Rodolphus, breathing deeply, twitched the drapes around his bed back and reached out to grab two Flintley's cigarettes from his bedside table, handing one to Bellatrix. She took it boredly, allowing him to light it with the tip of his wand as she rested it between her lips._

_For a while there was silence. The two students fell into a steady rhythm of inhaling and exhaling smoke, the ash simply disappearing into nothingness as they consumed their cigarettes._

_Bellatrix was the first to speak. "You're hiding something from me."_

_Rodolphus coughed at the sudden terseness and gave her a sidelong glance. "What're you talkin' about?"_

"_You're hiding something from me," Bellatrix repeated patiently. She sat up beside Rodolphus, the covers slipping from her body, exposing her angular bone structure and her full, rather large breasts._

_Rodolphus' eyes immediately found the dusky tone of the girl's nipples against her deathly pale skin and did not leave them. _Lucius couldn't help but notice how very different everything looked compared to Narcissa's soft, white skin, the gentle hint of pink of her nipples as opposed to the very dark hue of Bellatrix's. The older Black's bone structure was much sharper, much harsher then the elegant, regal one of the youngest. He decided then that he'd definitely chosen the right sister, but pushed all thought to the back of his mind lest Bellatrix find them.

"_M'not, Bella," Rodolphus smiled around his cigarette, still staring at her chest. His hand touched the small of her back. "Lie back down."_

_Bellatrix removed the cigarette from her mouth, watching him with mild interest. "Then why didn't you show me everything in your mind, just then? There were some things you wouldn't let me see."_

_Rodolphus shifted, clearly uncomfortable under her scrutinizing gaze. "I wasn't hiding anything from you, Bella." His eyes were averted and his tone was far too formal. He was a terrible liar._

"_Are you sleeping with someone else?" she politely wondered aloud. The tone of mild interest was still there, but her eyes seemed to be becoming darker._

_Rodolphus panicked. "No, course m'not!" He looked back up into her eyes as he said it._

"_Then what is it?" Bellatrix's hands roamed through the excessive amount of hair on Rodophus' torso, languidly up his stomach and slowly moving up to his chest. The cigarette was burning to itself in Bellatrix's fingers, forgotten as she trailed the butt end up Rodophus' skin. "Have you seen something you shouldn't have?"_

_There was a pause before Rodolphus looked away again. "No."_

_Bellatrix tugged the hair of his chest hard. Rodolphus let out a cry of pain which sounded remarkably like a dog whining. "Liar," she sang, drawing out the r. "Tell me. Now."_

_A string of pained cries followed the first. He clenched his eyes shut. "I saw another girl's boobs, I didn't mean to and I'm very sorry and-"_

"_You're lying, Rodolphus." Bellatrix began getting rougher with her fingers, ripping and pulling. "Tell me the truth."_

_Rodolphus stared up at the top of his four-poster, ignoring the smarting and bleeding of his chest as Bellatrix ripped out entire hairs. Still he didn't cave in. That was until she moved the burning cigarette downwards, under the sheets, and Lucius could perfectly understand why Rodolphus broke._

"_N-no, Bella!" he cried, sitting bolt upright and pushing her arm as far away from his manhood as possible. "Okay, okay! I saw…Erm. Well, uh." His voice turned into a whisper, and he spoke down into the bed sheets. "_I saw Narcissa and she mmfwithLuciusandhemmfmf__._"_

_Bellatrix stared at him. "What?"_

"_I erm….I saw Narcissa and Lucius a-and they were…uh." He looked away, face burning._

_Still, Bellatrix merely continued to stare at him, sounding politely interested. "Lucius as in Professor Malfoy?" Rodolphus regretfully nodded._

_There was a moment in which neither of them moved. And then Bellatrix very slowly, very calmly, moved away from Rodolphus, pushing the drapes back and sliding out of bed. She returned barely seconds later with her wand in her hand. She looked just as livid as she did when storming into Lucius' office, though Lucius hoped he had not looked as petrified as Rodolphus did. _

"_Wh-whoa, Bella, what're yo-" he began, but Bellatrix was already clambering on top of him, teeth bared and nails digging into Rodolpus' naked shoulders. She pushed him down onto the bed, straddling his waist and pressing all of her weight down onto his body to keep him there. _

_Before he could make another sound or attempt to push Bellatrix off him, she had already growled "Legilimens," and was invading the seemingly weak defences of Rodolphus' mind, for he didn't appear to put up any hint of a fight against her._

_Lucius couldn't see the information that Bellatrix was extracting from Rodolphus, but he could hazard a guess as her face became steadily more fearsome and wrathful. Her nails punctured the skin of Rodolphus' shoulders, blood pooling around her fingertips, to add to the cross-hatch of deep red scratches which were tribute to their recent act of passion. His eyes were clenched shut, his face contorted with pain, while she seemed to be wearing a poker mask, her mouth a hard line and her eyes wide as she stared at Rodolphus._

_She eventually pulled away from his mind, straightening up to sit upon his hips as she did so. "So that was what you were hiding from me?" she purred slyly, tracing her wand over Rodolphus' throat. He was shaking, breathing ragged and eyes still closed. "What a foolish little boy you are to protect him." Her voice was soft, condescending. "Muffliato," she murmured, rotating her wrist in an arc to set the boundaries of the sound-proofing spell around the four-poster._

_Rodolphus' eyes snapped open to take in Bellatrix's wicked smile, her wand pointing directly above his heart. He looked exhausted in every way. "You will pay for it."_

"_N-no, Bella, please I-" he began, but his words were cut off when he began to shout in agony._

Miss Black began to pull the tendrils of her consciousness away from Lucius' mind, but he clung on, trapping her inside his protective walls. She made a soft growl as she struggled to pull away but, like the entwining fingers of two lovers, Lucius held on and drew more images from her consciousness. He needed to see what she had done.

In the struggle, the images were not as clear as the sequence Lucius had just witnessed. Between rushing colours and sounds he saw snippets of _Rodolphus screaming for help, him thrashing beneath Bellatrix, her realising he had the superior weight and casting a spell to bind him in invisible ropes. Lucius saw Bellatrix ripping Rodolphus' skin apart with both spells and nails alike, heard the sounds of at least two ribs snapping, the harsh, shallow breaths and pleas for mercy from the boy as he lay helpless beneath the cruel, merciless witch._ The last thing he saw, before Miss Black used surprising to force to pull her consciousness from Lucius', was _Bellatrix turning over next to a mutilated, twitching Rodolphus and begin sleeping soundly_.

Lucius stared up at Miss Black, eyes wide, as she snarled at him for making her show more than she wanted to. Her wand was still pointed at him. "You nearly killed him."

"He deserved it," Miss Black tittered flippantly. "You're not going to help him," Miss Black commanded harshly, as Lucius made to get out of his chair, "You can do that once I'm finished with you."

"He's still in his bed?"

She smiled sweetly. "Now. Was all that correct? Have you had sex with my little Cissy?"

"Miss Black, I think Master Lestrange really nee-"

"Answer me and you'll be able to help him faster then, won't you?"

Lucius sneered up at Miss Black. He took in a deep breath. "Yes. In here, once." He was careful to arrange his words so that he technically wasn't lying. He found that he was unashamed in admitting it aloud. It was almost like a weight off his mind. The weight soon returned, however, at the realisation of who he had told.

Her brow became furrowed, her heavy lids and thick lashes obscuring her eyes from Lucius for a few moments as she bowed her head. In the dim green torch-light of the office her face was almost completely in shadow, light reaching only her angular cheekbones and the tip of her nose. Lucius watched silently, awaiting his fate. Then she struck.

She was on him so fast he could barely register her movements. Miss Black lunged at him, landing on top of him in his office chair. She would have been straddling him, had her bony knees not been on top of the apex of his thighs, pushing hard into his hips. She was resting all of her weight on her knees, digging into his pelvic bone. Lucius winced and tried to move away from her, but she quickly grabbed the collar of his shirt and the neck of his cloak. Miss Black straightened up to add more pressure onto Lucius' hips and to lean over him, stare down at him, assert herself over him. She pulled her professor's head upwards by his collar, forcing him to stare up into her eyes.

"Was it good, Professor?" Miss Black hissed. There was no sign of childish mirth in her voice now. It was dark, thick with ire and threats. It now matched her eyes, her down-turned mouth and the force which her slender, long-nailed fingers exerted on the fabric around his neck. "Was she worth it?"

Lucius narrowed his eyes. He surreptitiously began reaching for his wand which was in his cane barely a few inches to the side of him. He was slow, cautious in moving his arm, but guessed that Miss Black was so preoccupied with causing his muscles to protest in physical pain that she wouldn't have noticed if he simply whipped his arm out and grabbed it. Still, he didn't want to take chances.

"That's enough, Miss Black," he murmured, "I think you should leave now."

Miss Black laughed. It was a harsh, grating sound, like dragging fingernails over a blackboard. Lucius had to admit, the feeling of dread in his stomach was becoming quite prominent. "Oh, I've barely begun, _Professor._" Lucius detected a hint of betrayal in her voice, and in the dark recesses of her eyes. No doubt because the one teacher she admired was the one to ruin everything.

Lucius didn't avert his gaze, unashamed. "What are you going to do, Miss Black? Go to Professor Dumbledore?"

"No," she growled, leaning down, closer. Lucius could smell the sickly scent of her perfume. Again, he resisted the urge to turn away. "He would just fire you. That's not enough." Lucius felt her push her knees harder still into his hips and winced as she drew his face up further still. "I am going to keep you here, and I am going to make sure you never touch my sister again. Ever."

One hand left Lucius' collar and began to trail down his chest, down his stomach. Lucius furrowed his brow, wondering what on earth she thought she was doing, until her fingers stopped at his crotch. He felt the weight of something pressing down into him as it slipped from Miss Black's sleeve before he felt its point. He couldn't see it, but there was obviously some sort of blade or dagger in between her slender fingers, and it was pointing threateningly directly above somewhere he definitely would not like a dagger to be embedded.

"Or else," Miss Black hissed darkly.

Lucius swallowed. "Duly noted. Now, is that all, Miss Black?" His fingers closed around the cool metal of the snake head at the end of his wand. He held it tightly.

"Oh no, Professor. You need to be taught never to touch her. I believe in reinforcement, I do." Her voice was a gentle whisper, her breath caressing his face. "You need to be taught what you've done is wrong. Yes, yes, you do. If Professor Dumbledore asks it was self-defence, it was looking after my little Cissy, it was all the truth. Yes, yes, it was."

She looked positively psychotic. Her voice was still breathy and high, like a particularly sweet child who was showing a mild interest, but there was malevolence behind each syllable. Thankfully she pulled her hand away from Lucius' crotch, but she was stroking her wand, staring at Lucius' face though her mad eyes appeared unseeing. Lucius knew enough about her, about her skill in his lessons, to know the black magic working in that brain of hers. He slowly unsheathed his wand from his cane.

"Father would agree with me. Father would tell me to do it for his _little girl_. Father would think I was being merciful. Father would rip you limb from limb. There'd be nothing left for anyone to cry over. Cissy's our little girl. _Our _little girl." She raised her wand, the small, sweet smile curving her lips which all too well conveyed her vehemence. "Yes. Yes, yes, yes. You will pay, Professor. _Cruc-"_

Before she could utter the spell, however, Lucius had flicked his wand soundlessly. Miss Black's wand flew out of her hand, landing in Lucius' outstretched fingers. Another wordless spell and she was thrown from his lap. Her wide eyes widened a little more momentarily as she was thrown backwards, crashing into the bookcase and sliding down into a hunched sitting position.

"I have been polite so far, Miss Black," Lucius growled commandingly, as he pushed himself out of his chair and approached her. She glared up at him, eyes narrowed and her hand reaching up to hold her right shoulder. "But I can not let you attempt an Unforgivable Curse on anyone, let alone a teacher. You would be in Azkaban, in the cell next to me. Now if that is what you want, I can easily snap your wand here and now for you." As though to demonstrate his point, his lengthy fingers held her wand in such a way that the centre was balanced on his thumb, his index and ring finger on the top of the wood at either end. He applied pressure upwards with his thumb and downwards with his two fingers. The wood began to strain, and just a little more would have seen it snap.

"No, don't!" Miss Black hissed, reaching forwards for her wand. Lucius twisted his fingers dextrously around it, holding it more safely.

"Good. Now, if you are not going to Professor Dumbledore you have made it quite clear what you will do to me if I touch your sister again. I have understood it, and it will not happen again. Enough is enough."

Bellatrix nodded mutely, still reaching out for her wand. Hesitantly, Lucius took another step forward and passed it to her. She glared reproachfully but returned it to its leather holster. "Fine. But if you so much as touch her-"

"I know, Miss Black."

"- I will tell our father. He will not be as merciful as I."

Lucius had to suppress a snort, and did very well in doing so. _The apple doesn't fall far from the tree indeed. _He flicked his wand at the shelves on the back wall of his office and they repaired themselves, the little instruments picking up their broken pieces and doing likewise before taking their rightful places.

"Though maybe I should tell Tobias Crowley. I doubt he'd take too kindly to it either." Miss Black rose from the floor, using the bookshelves for support. She dusted off her robes. "Being engaged to her an' all."

Lucius' brow furrowed. He stared hard at Miss Black. "Forgive me but…engaged?"

"Yes. She didn't tell you?" She laughed shrilly, sweetly. "She is betrothed to Crowley. A _maiden _for her somewhat wealthy, Pureblood, handsome husband." Another shrill laugh. "_Supposedly."_

Lucius moved back into his office chair, sitting down. He wanted to slump, but kept his back rigid and straight. It felt like he had been punched in the stomach. "When… How long have they been engaged?"

"Since January," Miss Black muttered, clearly bored now she wasn't threatening him, "the first day back after the Christmas holidays, to be exact."

_Hm. She had to endure a lot on that day._

_Wait, did she know she was engaged in the morning? Before she let me…Before I fucked her?_

Lucius buried his face in his hands. He had noticed an obnoxiously large ring on her finger, yes, but he believed the story she had told everyone about it being her deceased grandmother's. He did not think for a moment that it could be because of a suitor. He would have never suspected Master Crowley.

_Crowley._

All the times Lucius had looked that little boy in the eye during quidditch matches over the past few months. All the times he had said well done to him in class. The memories were bitter, disgusting almost. He had become less frosty towards Master Crowley when he realised that Miss Black had no interest in him but _apparently _she did. She had lied to him. She had lied.

The feeling that twisted Lucius' gut was completely new and foreign to him, though he suspected there was some sort of jealousy in there somewhere, much as he tried to fight it.

No. No it wasn't jealousy. Of course it wasn't. He had convinced himself once before that he was not envious of that silly little boy, and he could do it again. If Miss Black would rather be on his arm, strutted about in the unrefined, coarse circle of friends with unrefined, coarse clothes that Master Crowley could only produce for her as a husband with his no doubt unrefined, coarse 'abilities' between the sheets then that was her choice. It was common knowledge that Seekers were only after one thing, after all.

The tip of his forefinger trailed across his lower lip. He wished Master Crowley and Miss Black all the best. Yes, of course he did. He would feel no regret at any time, ever. He would never wonder what would have happened if there were ever a point where Miss Black could have been his. All his. He would never ponder on the idea of whether Master Crowley was truly appreciating his wife, the shape of her body and the feeling of her hand on his chest. He would never stop to imagine how it really would have felt to have Miss Black's fingers stroking his hair at night, coaxing him to a sleep where he would wake without being petrified.

Never.

"So," Miss Black cut in, in her bored, heavy tones, "what now?"

Lucius sighed, brushing his hand against the stubble on his cheek. "Return to your common room, Miss Black. We shall forget everything." He paused. "Give your sister my best in regards to her marriage." He had to control the vehemence of his voice as he spat out his words.

Miss Black laughed bitterly. "You make it sound like she wants to be ma-"

She was cut off, however, for at that moment Lucius' office door was once again burst open. "Lucius," came the voice of the entrant, sounding desperate and breathless.

"Minerva?" Lucius wondered aloud, surprised. He didn't think that he had ever seen the woman flustered yet there she was, skinny chest heavy beneath her velvet green robes, nostrils flared and strands of thin wispy hair, usually in such a strict bun, flying out of place. It looked as though she had been running.

"You!" the woman declared as soon as she set her bespectacled eyes on Miss Black, "You have some explaining to do, young lady."  
>"Oh, you found Rodolphus then?" Miss Black lilted politely. Minerva's nostrils flared, the crow's feet at the side of her eyes growing slightly deeper as her forehead furrowed.<p>

"Yes, we did, but that can wait for now," she proclaimed quickly, waving her hand.

Lucius found his eyebrow raising, for judging by the state of Rodolphus in Miss Black's memory it was quite a pressing matter. "What could be more important than that, Minerva?"

"Miss Black – the youngest one, Narcissa – has gone missing," the woman relayed quickly, her eyes twitching between Lucius and Miss Bellatrix Black, "and no one can find her. A group of Hufflepuffs said they thought they saw someone of her description walking across the grounds towards the Forbidden Forest early this morning."

Lucius immediately rose from his seat. _You silly girl, _he snarled inwardly. He grabbed his cane, sheathing his wand and briskly moving around his desk. "Thank you, Minerva. Who is looking for her at the moment?"

"Most of the faculty, including Albus. He has told me to remain here."

"Then do so. Thank you for informing me, I shall join the search for her."

Minerva nodded curtly, stared at Lucius and glanced unsurely at Miss Black, before turning on heel and leaving. Lucius started to follow quickly after her, but he found himself being grabbed yet again by Miss Black, this time from behind and he found himself being shoved up against the wall directly next to the door. She turned him so that they were face to face. Her wand was pointed at his neck.

"This is your doing," she spat. The dark, murderous tones of her voice had returned.

Lucius snarled. "Perhaps it is, and if so I should be the one to rectify it. Allow me to go and I shall find her. Return to your common room."

She laughed, low and harsh. "You think I'm going to sit around and wait for you to play saviour? I'm going to be looking too. But mark my words, Professor." She leant in closer. Her lips were almost touching his. It would have appeared almost sensual if her wand had not been pressing so dangerously into his windpipe, if she wasn't baring her teeth and if she were not looking at him so hatefully. "If she has so much as a _scratch _on her, I will send you to the Hospital Wing a few body parts down, and a lot less of a man."

Not doubting in the slightest that she would follow through on her words, Lucius nodded once. Miss Black moved away, holstering her wand and casting Lucius one final glare, before she wrenched the door back open and ran out into the corridor.

Wondering how the hell he'd even gotten into this situation, Lucius followed close behind, prepared to not cease in his searching until he found Miss Narcissa Black, praying the heathen gods which seemed to have taken a liking to smiting him far too much lately that he found her safe.

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><p><strong>Sorry for another short-ish chapter but I wanted something done, so. I hope you enjoyed nonetheless.<strong>

**Thank you, as always, for reading thus far.**


	14. Chapter 14

**I'm sorry that this one is short, again. Suffering from immense writer's block which I'm going to have to push through because I need this story done before the 23****rd**** July for personal reasons which I won't bore you with. Plus I wanted entirely Narcissa in this chapter, and I like where I ended it. **

**I hope you enjoy nonetheless.~**

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><p>If Narcissa had any idea what she was doing, she was hiding it rather well from herself.<p>

Being there in itself was entirely a compulsion. She needed to get away, to be alone. Where better than somewhere which was entirely out of bounds to students? Where better than the Forbidden Forest?

It had been early in the morning, barely 6a.m., when she made her way to the woods, and the castle had been still and silent as she walked through it. She was dressed only in a black skirt and a white blouse with her usual black shoes and white socks, for it had been a red sky the previous evening. It promised a sunny day. Her hair was down, pooling around her shoulders, and her wand was in the pocket of her skirt, which she had charmed to be overly long for it to fit snugly. It had been easy to get out of the castle, since she knew the exact place to tickle the huge oak front doors until they caved in and opened. She always thought it quite the security risk, but it was a little Slytherin secret and she would not be the one to tell anyone else.

The grass of the Hogwarts grounds had felt good under her feet as she walked, soft and covered in dew. She had been right, of course, about the weather, and a watery sun was blinking over the lake, upon the surface of which the Giant Squid was already sunbathing. The half-breed oaf was clearly awake, for the chimney of his ramshackle hut was expelling smoke as she passed it. Narcissa considered that it was either that or that there was a fire in his house, which would be no great loss, really. Her head felt clear, and she felt a sense of freedom for the first time in a long time. She felt like she knew what she was doing, and that she was in control, and everything would work out how she wanted it.

Now that she found herself in the forest, however, it was not seeming such an intelligent decision. She had just planned to stay at the thinnest part of the forest, where the trees were relatively sparse and she could see the half-breed oaf's hut and the castle looming not too far away, but she had soon become bored. She had spent over an hour, at least, throwing stones and kicking leaves, sitting down against tree trunks and huffing overly loudly in order to try and attract some attention, but none came. Seemingly no one had been missing her at all and no one was going to come for her.

_Bastards._

It had been that point that she moodily rose from sitting among the spindly, thinly populated part of the forest and had wandered a little further in. If anyone _did _come for her, she figured, it would make it harder for them to find her, which they deserved for making her wait, and she could also find something to satiate her boredom for a while.

She sighed as she wandered aimlessly through the forest, pretending to pay attention to where she was going. She was lost in thoughts of everything that had happened over the past few months, and so didn't really notice exactly how far in she was trudging. The sun had disappeared behind a blanket of thick black clouds sometime previous, and it began to get steadily darker as she made her way further in. She had to concentrate on the ground a lot more due to the gnarled, grabbing tree roots which threatened to trip her and send her tumbling down one of the steep hills in the forest. It wasn't too bad, for it stopped her contemplating on marriage arrangements and screaming children.

"_Lumos,"_ she murmured after removing her wand from the pocket of her skirt. She had only spent a short time walking, barely half an hour she would guess though she didn't have the means to tell, but still she needed some form of light to fully distinguish the general gloom from figures of trees. She noticed, as soon as the surrounding area lit up from the glow at the tip of her wand, that quite a few trees near her had deep marks in them, as though some animal had torn their claws through the bark. On a tentative closer inspection there seemed to be a dark liquid mixing in with the dried sap of the wounded trees which looked far too much like blood.

Frightened, Narcissa turned and began to move more quickly in a different direction, planning to double back on herself. Whatever made those marks she most certainly did not want to meet.

Narcissa was not an unintelligent girl, so she knew that what she was doing was utterly stupid. She knew it was merely a plea for help, and for attention, to make someone _listen, _but it seemed the best way to get what she wanted. No one else, otherwise, seemed to even regard that she had feelings anymore. Maybe if she just worried a few people they would pay some attention to her. That was all that she wanted.

Or was it? Often she found herself crowded by people asking her questions. More often than not she wanted to scream at everyone to just shut up and leave her alone, before going to bed and crying into her pillow. She needed to be alone, she needed some place quiet and dark to be left to her thoughts away from everyone, from their scrutinizing eyes and quiet breathing and prying questions.

Perhaps she just wanted to get herself killed. That was the only reasonable explanation she could come up with for her actions. She had heard stories about the Forbidden Forest, and why it was named such, so why was she in there? Why had she even considered it? Even as she wandered quickly through the trees, looking over her shoulder every so often and listening hard to make sure no one else's footsteps were matching her own, she felt eyes on her. A million eyes, all watching her at once. Every movement of something around her made her cry out, every sound of some animal not too far away sent a shudder up her back.

She tried to double back on herself, only to find that the forest seemed to be getting thicker and darker still, until she had to stoop down to find a safe path with the light of her wand. She knew that she should stop and shout for help, but the thought of attracting anything other than a friend caused her mouth to remain still and noiseless, save for the soft rhythm of her breathing at her frantic pace through the trees. She was scared.

Forcibly, as a way to calm her down a little more than anything, she thought back to her mother's bedtime stories. Hansel and Gretel instantly came to mind. A little witch and wizard with their wands snapped, driven into the woods to die. Sounded about right. Except she didn't have pebbles, breadcrumbs or a magnificent swan to lead her back home. Nor did she have a Hansel. Her only comfort was that she doubted any Malicious Muggles lived in houses of shortbread and sweets in the Forbidden Forest. What _did _lurk in the forest, however, she was soon to find out was almost infinitely worse.

When the forest began to thin somewhat, Narcissa felt quite elated. She was convinced she was going the right way and relief bloomed in her chest – she wondered if she would make it back to the castle in time for breakfast still – until she realised that it was not the castle she could see, but merely a clearing between the trees. She could hear soft noises, gentle breaths which weren't her own, from her place within the trunks, and curiosity got the better of her. She approached slowly and whispered, "_Nox_," for there were breaks in the trees above which shed just a little light into the clearing, illuminating the creatures within.

There were about five or six, though Narcissa couldn't bring herself to count. They were huge, about the size of horses. They resembled a horse too, if said horse had just been plunged into the fires of Hell. They were skeletal, fleshless, each bone protruding through their glossy, translucid skin. Narcissa was sure she could even see the pounding of one of their hearts through its rib cage, for there was a definite lump in its chest regularly appearing and disappearing. They had manes of luscious black hair, long tails which were likewise, causing Narcissa to forcibly think of how hair keeps on growing after death. There was a definite smell of rotting about them, after all, though she wasn't so sure that that was coming from the creatures.

On closer inspection, as she peered around a tree to look more closely at the creatures, they were crowded around the carcass of something rather large. In horror she watched the horse-things tear strips of flesh from the carcass with their teeth – not teeth. Fangs. Sharp, vicious fangs. – and eat them with dull snorts and flicks of their somewhat dragonish heads. She felt physically sick, but could not seem to take her eyes from them. Why had she never seen them before? Why had she never learnt of them before? Surely if there were demonic, carnivorous horses living in the grounds of Hogwarts the students should have been informed.

She was soon torn from thoughts of improper enlightenment from Professor Dumbledore about the Forbidden Forest, however, for there were much more pressing matters at hand. The horse-things, seemingly alerted to her presence by some godly force which didn't like her very much, stopped consuming their meal to stare up at her. All of them. They snorted, made harsh grating sounds through their bared teeth and stared at her with expressionless, pupiless eyes.

There was a moment in which Narcissa was sure that her heart stopped, and she stared back at the creatures, trying to focus on them all at once. Then she ran.

She shut her eyes as she sprinted away, to stem the flow of petrified tears which threatened to flood down her face. Her breath was ragged and shallow, her limbs pumping hard in order to keep her running. She was sure that she could hear the thunder of hooves behind her, devilish steeds about to reign down on her, trampling her, biting her. It was only when she fell over a particularly obtrusive tree root, landing hard on the ground, that she stopped. She braced herself, waiting for a death that didn't come.

One second. Two second. Three seconds.

All was silent.

"_L-lumos," _Narcissa whispered into the darkness. There was nothing but trees. No horses, no wide, white eyes, no reptilian bodies. All was still, and all was quiet.

Breathing heavily and wiping her bloodied hands on her skirt, Narcissa inched her way back towards a large tree. She sat against it, pulled her legs up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, embracing her shins tightly and burying her face into her knees, trying not to cry.

She couldn't help but think of the time she had spent with her family in Kielder Forest, in Northumberland, one summer. She was too young to remember how old she was, or exactly what had happened, but she remembered yanking her hand away from her mother's grip while she was busy, stopping Bellatrix from throttling Andromeda, and running off into the trees. She had been laughing, she remembered that, thinking it was all a very fun game. She remembered swirls of green and yellow and brown and rushing sounds and the snapping of twigs and an overly warm wind which carried with it the humidity that threatened to frizz Narcissa's perfectly styled hair. She remembered not paying attention to where she was going, pumping her little arms and legs as fast as they would go while lifting the skirts of her dress like a proper lady, and running so far that she could no longer hear her mother's shouts. She remembered the exact moment when she stopped laughing and the panic set in, tears welling up in her wide, innocent eyes as she searched frantically for her mother. She had sat down there, knees up to her chest and arms around her legs, sobbing until her mother found her over an hour later. She had been dirtied, scratched by tree branches, and there had been a huge tear in her dress which she was scolded for, but the attention and affection which was lavished upon her that evening was well worth it.

She pulled her legs closer to her chest, burying her face into her knees just as she had done that day. Even Bellatrix had hugged her that night. Granted, it was very brief, one-armed and when she pulled away she merely stalked off like she had tasted something particularly disdainful, but it was an embrace nonetheless. How she wished she could have the embrace of her sisters at that moment. Just a swift one from Bella, or one of Andy's long, loving cuddles which always left Narcissa sure that she was adopted, because there was no way she learnt that from their parents or any other member of their family, for that matter.

Or her mother. Yes, her mother. To be held by her mother would be lovely, like she had been on that day so long ago in Kielder Forest once she had been found. It was so close, so warm, that Narcissa never wanted to be let go. She remembered her mother's heartbeat as she was wrapped up in a cloak and lifted to Druella's chest, being called a silly girl over and over in a voice which was trying so hard to contain sobs of relief and fright.

Oh, she wanted her mother. She had been afraid to admit it over the passing months, for she was a woman, and women did not seek comfort from their parents because they could handle themselves and a husband and children and a house and they still had time to look beautiful. But she admitted it to herself now. She wanted the smell of her mother's perfume beside her as she began to drift to sleep, she wanted to feel her mother's fingers stroke her face and tell her what a beautiful young woman she would make one day, she wanted her mother's cooking, the hearty smells of whatever Druella decided on a whim to begin making that morning and the clanging of pots and pans which signified to the rest of the house that it was not, as always, going quite as planned. Hell, she'd even put up with her mother forcing her into puffy-sleeved ball gowns and evening dresses which made her look infinitely more like the doll she already resembled. She wanted her mother's stern words when she pushed the food on her plate around or folded her arms defiantly in the build-up to a tantrum. She wanted her mother's arms around her, to protect her from the nightmares which should have been Professor Malfoy's.

Ah. Yes. Professor Malfoy. Somehow, in some way, her thoughts always managed to return to him. Unsurprising really, since he had been the one to ruin everything, in more ways than one. He had taken her, stripped her of any chance to wear white on her wedding day, and he had destroyed her under the intensity of his crimes. He had _killed_. Yet why did she feel the need to protect him from Professor Dumbledore and from Azkaban? That was probably what scared her most. She knew what he had done, and she knew that he could still look Samuel in the eyes, thus she knew exactly how emotionless, how brutal he was. So why, _why_, did she still have to convince herself that she didn't want the feel of his hands upon her again? Why did she have to tell herself that, no, she definitely didn't want to hear the deep rumble of masculine thunder in his every word, which seemed to get even stronger when they were in one of their all too frequent acts of passion? Why did she have to tell herself that she didn't want the undeniable power and definite prowess of his authoritative touch, his dominating demeanour?

Why did she have to tell herself she wasn't his?

Narcissa absently touched the overly large wedding band around her finger. No, she wasn't Professor Malfoy's. She was Tobias Crowley's. She was destined to be his. To have and to hold until death do them part.

She still didn't know how she felt about Crowley. To have his engagement ring on her finger was a type of comfort, for she knew at least part of her life was planned. She knew that, at some point, the nightmares would go and she would forget all about Professor Malfoy and the crimes he had committed. But she knew, also, that he did not feel much for her, if anything. His embraces were merely putting his arm around her waist as he paraded her down corridors or around the common room. Objectifying her. He was showing her, and everyone in the vicinity, whose she was. He was challenging other potential males who may want her. She hated it. She hated the way he kissed her cheek so politely around other people, yet behind closed doors he was so persistent in getting her to allow him to part her legs. The only thing stopping him was the fact he still thought her a virgin.

Narcissa laughed bitterly into her knees. At least Andromeda and Rodolphus could keep their mouths shut. If Bellatrix knew then no doubt Crowley would within a few minutes, and they would both tear Professor Malfoy apart. Worse than that though; if Bellatrix knew, their parents would no doubt know within a few minutes too. There wouldn't be a part of Professor Malfoy left big enough to need a coffin. She squeezed her legs hard.

She knew it was wrong, her and her teacher. She knew the ways in which she thought about him were wrong. But the way Professor Malfoy kissed her was so much more… What was the word for it? Beautiful? Acceptable? Narcissa let out a derisive laugh. No, that definitely wasn't it. It was… unpretentious. He didn't try to mask his desire for her when they were alone. It was open, so much more than the cold, reclusive teacher that everyone else seemed to know. She could tell in the way he held her, wrapped his arms securely around her, that he did not think of her as a possession. She could tell in the way he spoke to her, even in the conversations they had which definitely were not on the school curriculum, about Mudbloods and politics and particularly annoying members of each other's families, that he thought of her as equally intelligent to him, and as a perfectly capable human being. Yes. Unpretentious. That would do.

Another derisive laugh. No one else in the free world would use 'unpretentious' to describe Professor Malfoy. He was getting to her head. She really would have to stop-

Then she heard it. The snapping of twigs. Narcissa tensed immediately, her head lifting up from her knees. She listened hard, eyes searching around the gloom in order to locate the cause of the noise. She raised her wand, casting the light further around. She could see nothing.

Heart pounding, mouth suddenly very dry and every nerve on end, Narcissa pressed herself up against the tree behind her, so not to be approached from behind. She held her wand tightly, breathing harsh and shallow. She clamped her free hand over her mouth so not to attract anymore attention to herself, eyes welling with frightened tears. And then she heard voices, carrying towards her.

"…never find her in 'ere, y'know," said one voice, becoming steadily clearer. Seemingly the owners were moving towards her, which she clarified by the sounds of their footfalls which crackled on dead leaves. They were behind her somewhere, on the opposite side of the tree against which she sat.

"If not, then I'm sure I can find another suitor," came a second voice, and Narcissa recognised it instantly as the sardonic drawl of Crowley. He sounded annoyed. "There's plenty more where she came from."

For a moment Narcissa was confused. _They can't be talking about me,_ she thought. They sounded completely unconcerned. But then again. "_Nox,_" she whispered, and the light went out. She would not yet alert them to her presence.

"Why're you so bothered 'bout her then?" said the first voice, which Narcissa now recognised as William Nott's. Any idea she had of getting up and running to Crowley's side were soon lost to the wind, for to be in the Forbidden Forest with the son of a Death Eater – a Death Eater who had played a part in killing the Bones – didn't seem to be the best idea to her. She had made it her business to look at him as little as possible over the past three months, and was quite content in continuing this.

_Oh but to be taught by a Death Eater, and allow others to be taught by him, is perfectly acceptable?_

_Shut up._

They were definitely coming closer, for Narcissa could hear either Crowley or Nott kicking the debris which littered the forest floor moodily. "Because if I find her now I may get lucky. Y'know, being the big saviour and all."

Nott snorted. "Is she still not giving it up?"

"No. I've told you, man, she's frigid."

"Then why did you write that letter to your parents? The whole 'we are to be married as soon as I graduate, I want her'. I thought you'd already done it with her for her to make you so… frantic over her."

"Because I _do _want her," Crowley sighed, exasperatedly. He sounded as though he was directly behind the tree which Narcissa was hiding behind. "She's hot, in case you haven't noticed. I thought that getting the arrangement done this early would loosen her up a bit, but no."

Nott, again, snorted. "What if she's the same when you're married?"

"Mistresses," Crowley said, as though automatically, "and even if she's not the same there'll be mistresses."

Narcissa heard them both laugh. She drew in a deep, shuddering breath.

"I'm sure Mag wouldn't mind sharing you with her," Nott agreed.

"Margarethe wouldn't mind sharing anyone with anyone," Crowley replied. Narcissa could tell he was smirking. "Good thing too, 'cause if I've waited this long and Black turns out to be rubbish between the sheets I'll need a consolation prize."

Nott made a noise of agreement, before one of them yawned loudly. "C'mon," muttered Nott, "let's go back to the castle. She could be anywhere and m'hungry. If anyone'll find her it'll be Dumbledore."

For a moment there was silence. Then Crowley shouted, "Cissa!" His voice rang around the trees, bouncing off them until it was surrounding Narcissa. She thought, for a moment, that he had found her, that he was looming right over her shoulder, until he said, "Yeah, you're right. She'll come back when she's bored of playing these stupid games."

She heard them lumbering away, trudging obnoxiously loudly through the leaves, and heard Crowley say as they retreated, "I hope there's sausages left."

Narcissa waited until their footsteps faded into nothingness. Then she pushed herself up and ran off in the opposite direction to them, wiping a tear defiantly from her eye which threatened to spill out onto her cheek. She would not cry for Crowley, not for that scumbag. She knew that he didn't love her, and never would, but to already be planning his _mistresses _was certainly a kick in the proverbial teeth.

What did Margarethe have that she didn't? Other than a tan, bigger breasts and less dignity. She was barely even attractive, she just let people in between her thighs far too often. If that was what males found attractive, Narcissa was quite thankful that only Professor Malfoy seemed to think her beautiful.

"_Beautiful, elegant. I find you rather charming."_

She continued running, wanting to put as much distance between her and Crowley as possible. He was scum, and he didn't deserve her hand or any other part of her in marriage. She had no idea what she was doing but she was too furious to stop. She knew it was dangerous, that she didn't know where she was going, but she really didn't care. Branches snagged her clothing as she ran, tearing at her skirt and blouse until they were near enough just tatters, but she didn't really care. She felt trees clawing at her loose hair and wished that she'd tied it up, but was far too busy running to charm it up now. She wasn't paying attention to where she was going, twisting around this tree and turning around that one. Even when she realised that she was somewhere very dark and very cold she didn't stop. The perspiration which clung to her body from running cooled almost immediately, and she felt her breath rise in front of her even though she couldn't see it. She could barely see her hand in front of her face, yet still she ran.  
>The ground began to get slippery, the mud beneath her feet shifting every time she put her weight down onto the ground. More than once she stumbled, cried out and just about managed to get her balance. She would not allow Crowley to think that she had returned for him. She would not give him the satisfaction. No, no, she was going to run as far away from him as she could, and leave the forest when she was ready. She would prove him wrong. She would not give him the satisfaction.<p>

She would show him that she didn't need him. That she could get lost and rescue herself all on her own. She didn't need anyone! She was strong, and independent, and she didn't need her mother or father or a suitor or Professor Malfoy or-

She stumbled. She found that there was nothing under her foot to regain her footing. There was the plummeting feeling of missing a stair in the dark, and then she began to fall.

Clutching her wand tightly to her chest, Narcissa screamed as she hit the ground and didn't stop moving. Her foot hit ground first, though she thought there was none, and she heard something crack before she crumpled. She was falling down a steep incline, limbs splaying out uncontrollably, mud and dirt and rocks smacking into her as she rolled downwards. She tried to claw onto something to hold and stop herself, but all she felt was mud sliding out from under her hands and leaves shifting beneath her, adding momentum. She felt herself growing dizzy, felt her clothes becoming wet as the socking mud beneath her wept into her blouse. _Please, please, let it stop._

When she finally halted it was with a loud thud which reverberated through her body. She was instantly winded at the impact and fought for breath. She felt like someone had let Crabbe and Goyle on her. Her every muscle ached, and she could already feel bruises blossoming over her skin. Her left leg felt completely numb. There was a dull thudding at the side of her head where she guessed she had been struck by more than one rock on her fall. As she cautiously unfolded her arms she raised a hand to the side of her head. It was damp with blood, congealing with mud in her hair which was sticking to her face. Tears sprung to her eyes, a combination of fear and pain.

"_L-lumos," _Narcissa whispered, and held her wand as high as her aching arm would allow. It was pitch black around her. Narcissa could see nothing but trees, pressing in on every side. Foreboding, gnarled creatures stretching up endlessly, branches locked in battles for dominance on their fight to the sky. No light at all penetrated the canopy under which she lay, and, despite the glow at the tip of her wand, she could barely distinguish dark shapes of the trees from their shadows. There was still snow on the ground, despite the fact that it had all melted in mid-January, which gave Narcissa an indication of how little light this part of the forest saw. The thought of the dark creatures which could inhabit this part, watching her right now with their wide eyes, perfectly adapted to seek prey in the dark, petrified her, so she set to analysing her own body.

She was caked head to foot in mud from the steep incline which she had fallen down. Looking up at it she saw it was nearly completely vertical, and at least twenty feet or so high. There was little injury on herself, save for the numerous scars, cuts and bruises which littered her body, except for her leg. Her ankle was at an odd angle, and, on trying to move it, she found pain too intense for her to handle. She screamed out before she could stop herself, clamping her hand over her mouth. There was no way she could make it back up the hill, or even move. She was trapped.

She bit her lip to stop herself crying. It was her own fault. She should have let Crowley know that she was there. He'd found her. And then she should have thanked him for being her saviour however he wanted. Such was the ladylike way, and such was the way she should have taken when she had the chance. She was being punished now, punished for not being the trophy wife she was meant to be. The chance of her being found now were close to zero. She was going to die. Die, cold and alone.

And it was all her fault.

Far, far above her, she heard the pounding of rain on the canopy. Heavy rain, heavier than she had known for a fair few months. It was so strong, slamming down in icy sheets, that it began to penetrate the leaves which formed her only blanket of protection from the elements. It began to pat softly on her face, like kisses, until it became too strong for the trees to maintain. The rain poured down on her motionless body relentlessly.

It was meant to have been a sunny day. It was meant to have been bright and warm and lovely. The pathetic fallacy was unwelcome. "Why do you defy me?" she whispered upwards.

She absently thought about bright sides to this. At least she could open her mouth for some form of liquid sustenance. At least the rain was softening the mud around her, making her marginally more comfortable. At least that way she could pretend it was just water on her face rather than the tears of fear which streamed from the corners of her eyes. At least if she died there, cold and alone, she would not have to ever be Mrs. Narcissa Crowley.

"Help," she whimpered softly.

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><p>Narcissa completely lost track of how long she had been lying there. The darkness of the forest gave no indication of time, and she was sure that what were minutes were stretching on for hours. She could have been there a few seconds, or until the end of time, she really didn't know. All that she knew was that she was hungry. She was thirsty. Her voice was hoarse from shouting and screaming, for she grew to no longer care about attracting possible predators. Hell, she would have welcomed a swift demise. Her leg was no longer numb, and the pain from her ankle was nearly blinding her. She kept falling asleep, whether into a pain-induced slumber, out of boredom or from the rhythm of her bodily clock, and when she awoke she always wished that she was still asleep. Even the nightmares of being chased by snakes was more welcome than this. At least in dreams she could actually run and nothing hurt.<p>

"'Midway along the journey of our life'," Narcissa found herself reciting weakly, over and over again to entertain herself in the hellish minutes of consciousness, "'I woke to find myself in a dark wood, for I had wandered off from the straight path'." She didn't know why she had taken to murmuring what she could remember of The Divine Comedy, but it was something of a comfort. To remember Professor Malfoy's neat, elaborate handwriting as she read between the beautifully warm sheets of her four-poster, completely oblivious to anyone else, was soothing in this dark place in which she found herself. To remember Professor Malfoy at all was a comfort.

She wondered over and over if she would ever see him again. Not a thought in her head went to Crowley, nor to her sisters, nor to her mother or father. She thought completely and utterly of Professor Malfoy. She imagined him there with her, cradling her in his arm and whispering words of security as he picked her up and returned her to the castle. She imagined the beating of his heart as she lay next to him on his bed after an act of beautiful sin. She imagined the touch of his skin on hers, the taste of his mouth as he kissed her. She imagined being had and held by him.

Her tears renewed.

She soon gave up hope. Gave up shouting and gave up any chance of being found. She was lost, unnoticed, and no one was going to come to her aid. Professor Dumbledore was supposed to be searching for her, was he not? And even he had not found her. Maybe her father was right. Maybe he _was _just a Muggle-loving old coot who was getting too old for his name. Maybe she was going to die.

This thought plagued her endlessly. Maybe she was going to die. Perhaps she already was dead. Perhaps this was her punishment for being a bad fiancée. To lie forever, unremembered and unloved in this cold, dark, desolate place. She was deserving of it, so why not?

But wait. It didn't seem so…dark anymore. Narcissa squinted, for everywhere around her seemed to be suddenly bathed in light, and she was fairly sure that was not because of her wand which barely even had a glow anymore due to her lack of energy. No, the light was coming from another source. She tried her hardest to concentrate, to locate the cause. When her eyes found it she didn't believe them.

Perhaps she had been thinking too much about Hansel and Gretel, for what appeared to be a bird shone brightly before her. It looked like a gigantic swan, like the one which gave Hansel and Gretel passage back home with the Muggle's treasure. It moved towards her, glided, as though the ground was water. It spread its great wings, raised its noble neck and crooned long, low note which Narcissa had never heard from a swan before. It was like a song. _How ironic, _Narcissa pondered, with a miniscule smile. _I cannot perform a swan song, so I get a literal one before I die. But then again…_

"Am I dead already?" she wondered aloud in a cracked, hoarse whisper. The swan bent its elegant neck, moving closer and illuminating the area in which Narcissa lay. She could make out the gentle line of the swan's beak, the shape of its head and the deep grey of its eyes. She tried to reach up, desperate to touch its head, knowing that if she did she would be saved and all would be well. "Do people like me go to heaven?" she whispered, believing without a doubt that it was there to wing her to her judgement.

It was the only explanation. No swan lived in the Forbidden Forest. Indeed, no swan had ever shone so brightly, especially in such a dark place. No swan had ever looked so elegant, so beautiful. If that was the last thing she was to see in life, then she was grateful.

The swan leant in and touched Narcissa's hand. Warmth immediately spread through her. _If this is death, it doesn't hurt,_ she wondered mildly. Her vision was failing, becoming darker at the corners of her sight and more blurry, until the swan was merely a bright light in the encroaching darkness. She was growing numb. _How wonderful._

She was sure she heard noises, somewhere far away, shouting things she didn't understand. All light had gone and she could see no more. She was certain, so certain, that she heard the words, "You silly girl," so very close, but all was dark, and all was gone, and all was beautiful.

She allowed herself to succumb, and all fell silent.

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><p><strong>As always, thank you for reading thus far.<strong>

**If you enjoyed, please review. My regular reviewers really make it all worth it, and I find myself motivated even through my writer's block. This chapter would have probably taken another week without you guys, so thank you and please don't stop if you don't want me to. c:**


	15. Chapter 15

**Your reviews for the last chapter. I just. I swear I was smiling like an idiot for hours at each one. Thank you so much.**

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**As always, I hope you enjoy.~**

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><p>"<em>You silly girl."<em>

_Dark, light, wings; where am I?_

"_Didja find 'er?"_

_Be quiet. Let me sleep._

"_Yes. I'm taking her to the Hospital Wing."_

_That voice. Where are you?_

_Is that my heart or yours?_

_Please. Help._

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><p>Narcissa drew in a deep, shuddering breath.<p>

She was warm, in that perfect temperature of a comfortable bed. All around her felt soft and plush, like a cloud. She didn't want to move, for something was telling her that it would hurt, and she didn't want to leave this place of unaware, soft bliss.

She heard noises around her, what sounded like restful breathing and the gentle tapping of shoes moving across a shined linoleum floor. There were the quiet tinks and thumps of someone bustling about with various objects Narcissa couldn't place. There was the smell of cleanliness, antiseptics and the scents of various potions lingering on the air. She felt very awake. To keep her eyes shut felt strange, and she was beginning to get a little uncomfortable not knowing where she was. Slowly, very slowly, she allowed her eyes to flutter open.

Narcissa was immediately met with a white ceiling. She stared and it looked blankly back.

_Blank, blank white eyes. Those things, in the forest._

_The forest._

She clenched her eyes shut again. _Is this heaven? Nothing hurts, after all. That isn't a bad thing. _It didn't feel like heaven though. Everything felt very real, and why would heaven have a ceiling? She chanced moving something, just to make sure, and twitched her fingers. She felt warm cotton beneath her fingertips. Still nothing hurt. Mustering her courage, she twitched her whole arm. Again, the soft feeling of cotton, but no pain.

Taking in another deep breath and pursing her lips as she breathed it out, Narcissa chanced opening her eyes again and gradually looked down. _Oh, _she pondered, _heaven is a Hospital Wing._

She was in a bed of crisp, white covers with a number of pillows holding her head at an angle which propped it up, helping her to look around.

At the right side of her was a white bedside table, on top of which was a glass of water with a larger jug of water to the side of it. A large vase dominated most of the table, and Narcissa did not even bother trying to hide her disdain. Red roses. How she hated them and their every connotation. So unoriginal.

Propping herself upon her elbows gingerly, Narcissa slowly pulled herself up into a reclined sitting position on her pillows. She felt immediately light-headed at the energy exerted in pulling her body up, but seemingly her cuts and bruises had been healed for she found she could otherwise move fairly easily. Upon pulling back the sleeve of her clean, white cotton pyjamas her suspicions were confirmed. She was devoid of all scars bumps and mud, her skin fresh and soft. Tentatively, she risked moving her ankle. There was a very dull ache in the joint, but nothing compared to the pain which had seared through her when she had tried moving it at the bottom of the hill, in the Forbidden Forest.

_There was no way I could have gotten back up that hill with that. So how did I get here?_ she wondered, rubbing sleep from her eye with the back of her fingers and languidly casting her eyes around the Hospital Wing.

She panned her vision around the room, looking at the slumbering lumps beneath the sheets in various beds. Through a crack in the curtains above the bed opposite hers Narcissa could see an inky, cloudless sky dotted with stars. Her eyes set on the apprentice matron, Madam Pomfrey, who was drifting about despite the hour, straightening the sheets at the ends of beds meticulously and checking up on students as they slept. Narcissa watched her until she disappeared behind a curtain which surrounded a bed, hiding it from view of the other patrons.

Sighing, Narcissa sat back and tried to remember exactly what had happened. She had been running, winged horse-demons, Crowley, the hill. Her head began to pulse dully when she regretfully remembered lying at the bottom of the incline, holding a hand to her hair and feeling the warmth of blood and mud congealing on her hand, as though to remind her further. She raised a hand to her head. There was no wound, and her hair was clean. She felt privileged.

She, again, sighed softly as she gently rubbed her head, until she saw something move on her left side, out of the corner of her eye. She knew there was a large, high-backed leather chair there, as was at every bedside, but she most certainly didn't expect anyone to be in it. She tensed, imagining all sorts of terrible things that it could be, and slowly turned her head. Her mouth formed a gentle 'o'. What was he doing there?

Professor Malfoy was leaning back in the chair, an open book in his lap on which his hand was resting. His head had fallen onto his shoulder, his hair falling about his face and his collar bone. There were a few tendrils of stray hair crawling across his forehead and cheek which Narcissa so longed to push away and a pair of reading glasses were resting on his nose, though they had slipped down a little in his doze. His brow was furrowed and there was the shadow of stubble on his chin, as though he had not been too concerned with shaving for a fair few days. His cane was leaning against his knee, his cloak was draped over the arm of the chair and was dressed only in a shirt with airy sleeves and cufflinks of emeralds, tucked into his usual formal black trousers. Around his neck was a white cravat, which was clearly made of silk.

_Pretentious bastard, _Narcissa intoned. She found herself smiling softly.

There was the tapping of footsteps as Madam Pomfrey came back from around the curtain around the hidden bed, casting her eyes around seemingly for someone else to assist. Naturally, her sight set on the awake Narcissa and she smiled. The smile was so bright and genuine that Narcissa was almost taken aback.

"Ah, you're awake, dear," observed Madam Pomfrey in her matronly manner. She quietly tapped her way over to Narcissa's bedside, her voice hushed so not to wake Professor Malfoy. She pressed the back of her hand to Narcissa's forehead. "Mild fever, still. Hm." She grabbed the glass of water from Narcissa's bedside and pressed it into her hand. "Here, dear. You gave us quite a scare, you know. Running off like that. My my, everyone was frantic."

Narcissa, still aching and tired, was quite reluctant to move or listen to the apprentice school Healer, but she had to know exactly what happened. "Wha-" she began, but her voice rasped. It felt like there was nothing but sandpaper at the back of her throat. She raised the glass to her lips, took a long gulp, realised how thirsty she was and drank the entire contents. Madam Pomfrey was waiting patiently so, after her hydration, she began again. "What happened?"

The matron's eyebrows rose towards her light, thin hair which wisped out of the confines of her hat. "You don't remember, dear? Oh, well, you ran off into the forest. Fairly deep into it, too, so I hear. You were missing for two days in there. Professor Dumbledore and Professor Malfoy were absolutely frantic. Literally didn't stop searching until they found you – didn't eat, drink, sleep, nothing. Well, Professor Malfoy found you." – Narcissa felt something which felt a lot like one of her old bubbles begin to bloom within her chest, though it was being lost under the feeling of dread and guilt twisting her stomach. – "Barely conscious you were, so I hear. He carried you back." Madam Pomfrey smiled warmly. "You've been unconscious for three days. Shivering, laboured breathing, going between low temperatures and fever, pale as death. We had feared hypothermia. Madam Hartford had to make an extra strong batch of Grand Pepperup Potion for you." She stroked a crease out of the end of Narcissa's bed sheet as though she was talking about little else than how pleasant the weather was. "You've had plenty of visitors, dear. Your sisters have been in every day, your cousin has popped in once or twice. Your fiancée" – Narcissa felt her bubble burst as her heart dropped through the floor. – "and your friends left you those flowers." She inclined her head to the red roes at Narcissa's bedside.

There was a moment in which Narcissa was quiet, resolutely not looking at the flowers. "And what of Professor Malfoy?" she inquired hoarsely.

"Oh, yes, of course. He's been here every night, after visiting hours. Says he wants to make sure you're alright, since you're in his house." There was a knowing way in which she said this, as though she believed differently, though her warm smile remained.

Narcissa gave the professor a sidelong glance, watching the rise and fall of his chest, listening to his heavy, peaceful breathing. _He found me? Carried me back? Then the swan…?_

"Thank you, Madam," Narcissa murmured softly.

Madam Pomfrey smiled wider, her eyes creasing up and lighting up her complexion. "I am glad you are recovering, dear. Now, I must leave you, for Madam Hartford would drop me immediately is she knew I was keeping you awake. Don't hesitate to call me if you need anything."

Narcissa nodded, and Madam Pomfrey curtsied and left her bedside.

The girl sighed and, not in the least bit tired, tried to prop herself higher on her pillows. She was beginning to ache more, now, and the exertion of trying to lift herself was clawing her energy from her. Her head hurt and her arms were shaky, her legs numb, and there was a dull pain in her chest every time she breathed in. She cautiously reached under the covers and pulled her pyjama shirt up. As with the rest of her body, her cuts and bruises had all been magically healed. However rather than being happy her heart, once again plummeted. _The state Professor Malfoy saw me in, _she groaned internally. _I was a mess._

She sighed again, dejectedly, and reached out in an attempt to get the water jug from her bedside table to fill her glass. It went fine, at first, for she grabbed the handle of the jug and lifted it, before her arm began to shudder and shake at the exertion. She tried to lift it over to her bed, to the glass in her hand, but as she did so her fingers began to slack. She tried so hard to hold on, but she felt it slipping from her grip, and braced herself for the inevitable. She let go of the jug, causing the contents to spill over her bed, and it fell to the floor where it smashed into pieces.

The high-pitched cry of glass breaking shattered the silence of the Hospital Wing, and most of the occupants were awake immediately. They were shouting and grunting, bleary-eyed and scared at the vulnerability that their ailments caused them. Narcissa buried her face in her hands, not wanting to see the accusing glared, just wanting to drink, eat, sleep, protected, safe-

"Quiet," a familiar voice commanded. The frantic cries of the Hospital Wing's occupants immediately ceased. "Everything is fine. Go back to sleep, all of you."

There were the sounds of quiet grumbles and the sounds of people turning over scattered around the room. "It's alright, Poppy. Allow me," continued the voice, more softly. Narcissa, face still hidden behind her hands, heard the voice murmur a spell to fix the shattered jug on the floor and another to instantly dry her soaking sheets. "Could you please get Miss Black a fresh jug of water, Poppy?"

Narcissa heard the soft tapping of shoes as Madam Pomfrey approached to retrieve the jug from the ground, and heard them retreating again as she left to complete Professor Malfoy's request.

There was at least five minutes of silence where Narcissa kept her face firmly hidden. For a while, she was sure that Professor Malfoy had fallen back asleep, until he spoke. "Bellatrix knows." That was all.

Narcissa considered this a moment. Then lowered her hands. Turned to look at Professor Malfoy. He appeared his usual stoic self, face devoid of any emotion. He had closed his book and removed his glasses, and the latter was lying on top of the former on his lap. He looked the epitome of sophistication. "What?"

"About you and I. Before I found out that you ran off she came to my office. Threatened me." His lips twitched, though it was a hollow smile.

Narcissa felt something very cold inject into her heart and pump around her blood stream. "How? I didn't- I swear I didn't… What does she know? How much? Who told her?" She paused a moment. "How are you still alive?"

"It was Master Lestrange. He-"

"The _bastard_. I'll kill him, I'll-" she growled, but the threat hurt her throat too much for her to continue. She was grateful when Madam Hartford arrived at that moment with a fresh jug of water. She had clearly been roused from her bed, for she was dressed in a fluffy light pink dressing gown with matching slippers, wispy white hair contained under a nightcap and a sleeping mask pushed up above her eyes. Her face was aged and creased, and though she was blessed with laugh lines she looked rather stern.

"What _is _happening here, Lucius?" she snapped at the professor. When she looked at Narcissa, however, she couldn't smile more, pouring her another glass of water with a swift, "How are you feeling, darling?"

"Nothing, Mada- Harriet," Lucius muttered irritably, "I have control of it."

"You have control of nothing here, Lucius," Madam Hartford retorted haughtily, feeling Narcissa's forehead. Had the girl been in a more amused mood, she would have probably found Madam Hartford, a stout little witch, staring down Professor Malfoy and winning very funny.

"Thank you, Harriet. Do return to bed," Professor Malfoy replied coolly.

"If only you used to say that years ago," she remarked snidely. "I do hope you're feeling better. Make sure you rest, darling, yes?" she beamed at Narcissa, before glancing coldly again at Professor Malfoy and shuffling off, her slippers making little noise.

Narcissa cast Professor Malfoy a questioning look. "I used to be a regular visitor here because of quidditch accidents, duelling and such," he replied to it, "and I wasn't the best. I used to smoke cigars in bed and let the girls who visited stay the night. She will never forget it."

_No, stop it, _Narcissa snapped at the twinge which felt a lot like jealousy at the mention of other girls, _he's a killer._

How strange to think that. She was the only one who knew. She, and only she, had Professor Malfoy's fate in her hands. She decided if he was imprisoned for life or not. And yet the world was still turning. Life went on. Even for the few remaining Bones' days followed the deaths of their family when they smiled, laughed. Perhaps Narcissa was blowing it out of all proportion. Yes, he was a murderer, but did that make him a terrible person? Really?

She knew the answer perfectly well, but didn't want to tell it to herself.

"As I was saying," Professor Malfoy continued, rubbing his eyes with his forefinger and thumb, "Miss Black – Bellatrix – found out through Master Lestrange, but he's over there." He flicked his head back, towards the bed surrounded by curtains. "Your sister used Legilimency on him, found out and then beat him. Badly. He was a mess."

Narcissa dreaded to think of the mangled state which lay behind the curtains. "Then how are _you _still alive?" she repeated.

"Miss Black can be quite docile, when treated in the right way. She is easily overpowered, though is too embarrassed to admit when she has been. She daren't oppose a stronger wizard really. Over the past few days she has been too relieved and grateful that I found you to make good of her threats, I think. Very, very deep down."

Narcissa nodded and swallowed. "Will she be expelled?"

"I'm sorting it," Professor Malfoy shrugged. It amazed Narcissa how graceful he could make such an offhand gesture look. "If Professor Dumbledore asks why she did it I am sure she wouldn't hesitate to say. With all the commotion of you running off I've had chance to convince the headmaster to allow me to discipline her, and to convince him also that it was merely a row between lovers."

Narcissa nodded slowly. "Professor. In the forest I think I…I think I saw some sort of omen," she observed his face, monitoring whether this would amuse him, or if he would not believe her. His brow furrowed a little, but he merely looked politely intrigued, as always.

"Do go on."

She entwined her hands together nervously, looking down at her fingers. "Well they looked like…horses. But I could see every bone, and they had white eyes and…they were eating meat."

When Professor Malfoy spoke Narcissa could hear the superior smirk in his voice. "Miss Black, surely you do not believe in such things."

Her sight snapped back to her professor. "I know what I saw, Sir," she muttered, feeling herself anger somewhat, "and I came pretty close to death, don't you think?"

"You would have lasted a few more days."

The nonchalant tone in which he spoke caused a heated prickle on the back of Narcissa's neck. _Heartless bastard! _She felt the sting of indignant tears rise behind her eyes. "Did you even care?" she demanded.

"Of course I did," Professor Malfoy replied swiftly, and his voice was so stern that for a moment she was apprehensive. "You have no idea how worried I was for you, Miss Black."

She felt the threat of tears subside. For a moment she was speechless. She had never heard him confess any form of emotion before, so to hear his emotion was _for _her she was hard pressed to hide a smile.

"Anyway," he continued hurriedly, averting his eyes, "what you saw are called thestrals. They are often mistaken as omens for their appearance, and because of the reason only few people can see them."

She stared at him. "You know about those…things and yet nothing's being done about them? They look like they could rip someone apart."

"Yes, thestrals can be aggressive, but the Hogwarts ones are fairly tame. The groundskeeper has them trained well. They're good for travelling, if one cannot apparate."

"Why haven't we learnt about these things in class? They're clearly spawn of some sort of dark art."

"Because, Miss Black, I teach about defending oneself against true threats, not relatively tame flying horses," he replied patiently.

"Hm, how ironic, when a true threat is teaching the subject." Nacissa said it before she could stop herself. She immediately felt bad, for he acknowledged it only by bringing his hand across his cheek. She searched for something to say, settling on, "So, why can only few people see them? I've never done so before."

"Only people who have witnessed death can see them," Professor Malfoy said, somewhat more quietly and with less enthusiasm.

Narcissa nodded, looking back down at her hands. "Oh," she breathed. There was an awkward pause. "Something else I have to thank you for then." There was another awkward pause. "Have you…I mean…could you see them before the Bones'?"

Professor Malfoy smirked humourlessly. "Yes. I could. I saw my mother die."

Narcissa's head slowly turned to return her eyes to Professor Malfoy's face. "What happened?" she whispered.

Professor Malfoy shrugged flippantly. "Illness. Nothing extraordinary. She passed away in a St. Mungo's bed when I was eighteen. I sat at her bedside while she went." Narcissa could tell he was suppressing a sigh. "It was how she wanted it. To die young meant she didn't have to disgrace my father, who never wanted her anything short of perfect. He killed her, really."

"How sad," Narcissa murmured. "I'm sorry." She didn't know what else to say.

Again, Professor Malfoy shrugged. "It was a while ago now. She was a very young, very beautiful and very quiet bride. To die from the pressures of an affectionless husband was inevitable, really. I'm just glad she doesn't have to endure him anymore."

Narcissa nodded but stayed silent. She played with the engagement ring, still around her finger, and longed to take it off. She resisted the urge, however, for Professor Malfoy began talking again to draw her attention away.

"Why did you do it, Miss Black? Run off into the forest like that."

Narcissa smiled meekly. "I don't know," she murmured, knowing exactly how stupid it sounded, "I guess I just…needed somewhere to be alone."

"And you couldn't do that somewhere – oh, I don't know – less life-threatening?"

She shrugged, still staring resolutely down at her hands. "Sorry."

Professor Malfoy sighed. "Listen. There's a room on the seventh floor, opposite a tapestry of some trolls and a man in a tutu. It's called the Room of Requirement. If you walk past three times, thinking of something you need then a door will appear and…you'll get it. Within Gamp's Laws, of course. Use it to find a quiet place as opposed to running off and nearly getting yourself killed, yes?"

Narcissa nodded slowly, trying to remember all the information. "Perhaps," she shrugged. Then before she could stop herself, she asked, "Were you scared, Professor?"

Professor Malfoy stared at her. "I beg your pardon?"

She sighed. "Were you scared? For me? When I was in the forest?"

He cleared his throat before answering, averting his eyes. "Yes. I was."

Narcissa couldn't help but contain a smile. She raised the glass of water, still in her hand, to her lips and drank slowly, savouring the taste. Out of the corner of her eye, all she could see were the red roses. Her engagement ring felt heavy on her finger. Her smile soon vanished.

Professor Malfoy seemed to notice this, for he questioned, "Is something wrong, Miss Black?"

"No," murmured Narcissa distractedly. She took another sip of water. The ring felt like it was burning a hold in her skin, the roses obnoxiously bright against the white of the Hospital Wing. "Yes," she rectified quickly, "Sir, I am to marry Tobias Crowley."

For a moment, Professor Malfoy looked like he had done in the memory. Livid. It passed before Narcissa had chance to get scared, but he leant forwards in his chair, his elbows on his knees. His hands tensed around his cane. "Yes," he murmured finally, "I have heard."

"I don't want to," Narcissa whispered into her glass, her breath fogging it up, "I don't love him. I don't even _like _him! I don't want to marry him." _Oh, no tears for thinking of Professor Malfoy as a killer, but _now _they're coming._

Professor Malfoy's lips pursed as he looked down. "I'm afraid there's nothing I can do about that."

"I don't want a marriage for convenience," she said softly. Tears leaked across her cheeks, falling around and down the back of her neck, into her pillow, from the angle she was lying at.

"I'm afraid there is little else, these days," Professor Malfoy murmured solemnly. He looked around searchingly, making sure all of the other occupants of the Hospital Wing had returned to sleep, before he leant forwards further. He raised his hand and very delicately brushed the back of his fingers across her cheek, wiping her tears away. He ran his thumb beneath her eye to stem the flow of anymore.

Narcissa sniffed softly but was so consumed by the feel of his skin on hers, finally, that she didn't have the will to cry anymore. When he took his hand away she was quite disappointed. "_Is _there anything else?" she inquired, wiping the tears of her neglected cheek on her pyjama sleeve.

"Marriage for love is feasible, if you are lucky," Professor Malfoy shrugged as he sat back into the leather chair, "However, for that you often have to go completely against your family." The pointed way in which he spoke made Narcissa suspicious.

"For example?"

"I think you know. Your sister was hand-in-hand with a Gryffindor for the entire holiday." The way in which he said it bellowed 'your sister is a blood traitor in the making', but he didn't sound as distasted as Narcissa thought he would. When she commented on this he simply stated, "I don't believe in an affectionless relationship. My mother and father are – were – proof that it does no one any good. I wish her luck."

Narcissa considered this a moment before nodding. "Me too."

There was silence for a long time. The breathing of the slumbering occupants was the only sound throughout the wing. A watery sun was rising, visible to Narcissa through a crack in the curtains opposite her. She could hear birds cheep outside, and the Whomping Willow groan as it stretched its spidery branches, the bark yawning as it spread its limbs. At some point Professor Malfoy had sat back in his chair and closed his eyes, looking utterly peaceful once again.

She stared at him, surveyed the gentle rise and fall of his chest, cast her eyes up and down him. She wanted to reach out and touch him, to be held by him. He was so close, yet so far away, in so many ways. And she was ruining everything for him – his job, his health, his working for Lord Voldemort. The familiar knot of guilt twisted in her stomach.

"Do you regret ever knowing me?" she breathed, not expecting him to have ever heard it. As it was, however, Professor Malfoy's lips twitched upwards, and the crease left his brow. His eyes remained closed, but if they were open Narcissa was fairly sure the iron in them would be molten.

"A gentleman never regrets a pleasure."

* * *

><p>Narcissa was deemed well enough, later that day, to return to the usual Hogwarts routine. Madam Hartford was not pleased at all in letting her patron go so quickly, but Narcissa had whined and moaned and very nearly turned on the waterworks until the matron had caved, irritated but still wearing her motherly smile. As a parting gift, she had held Narcissa's nose and forced a surely overly large phial of Grand Pepperup Potion down her throat until her ears bellowed steam. Narcissa was more than glad to leave, for she didn't want to endure that again.<p>

She was ushered from the Hospital Wing by a clucking Madam Hartford ("Shoo shoo shoo, be gone with you, then!") after a long speech from the matron in keeping safe and sound, phials of all shapes and sizes containing potions of all colours and consistencies pressed into her hands "in case you should need them, dear".

Returning to the common room was not nearly as awkward as Narcissa feared that it would be. Andromeda was upon her first, holding her in a secure, warm embrace before Narcissa could even say a word. "We were so worried," she whispered through gritted teeth, her relief to the point of upset being clear. Narcissa felt the knot once again twist in her stomach, but smiled back at her sister.

Upon being released, Maurice stood in front of Narcissa, and the look on her friend's face implied that she was about to get quite the berating. However, she hugged Narcissa tightly, scolded her quietly and finished on a soft, "Welcome back."

Bellatrix seemed to completely ignore everything, looking up at Narcissa with moderate interest and leaving her relief at a, "Hello, Cissy." Narcissa was quite content with this. It certainly beat talking of Professor Malfoy.

She sat in her usual chair by the fire contentedly, stretching her arms above her head and ignoring the jangling of a number of potion-filled phials within her robes. She was still sore, aching and with a dull pain in her ankle, but she couldn't remember the last time she had felt so sure-headed, so _happy. _She smiled politely, but genuinely, the pull of the muscles in her face feeling quite strange after so many months of being unable to muster the gesture. She tried not to think that it was Professor Malfoy that had ultimately made her so happy, that it was the feeling of being around her friends and sisters once again, and so Narcissa asked, as though to distract herself, "So, what have I missed?"

She could tell that everyone wanted to ask why she had run off, what had happened to her, perhaps who had saved her and how, but she was quite surprised at their amount of control; "Not much," Maurice shrugged, "Alberta finally got with Goyle, though I don't think he's realised yet. Erm, what else?"

The conversation descended into the usual friendly chit-chat, though the lack of the gangly, obnoxious presence of Rodolphus was very noticeable. No one commented on it, however, for Bellatrix had returned to her hobby of knitting, and had eight needles clacking away at once, guided by her wand, which were forming a woollen creation which looked scarily like a life-sized coffin. Narcissa would hazard a guess that it was either for Professor Malfoy or Rodolphus, and was going to comment that she'd need to make it longer, but did not want to encourage Bella or give her extra ideas. Plus she guessed that Bellatrix would not be disinclined to fold either of them up in some contortionist way to fit them into the wool coffin, extra points if there were a few broken bones, so Narcissa remained quiet.

It was later in the evening that Crowley entered the common room. Narcissa, who had been laughing at Godwin scaring first-years with tales of a colossal snake, Salazar Slytherin's pet, living far below the school which would come up and eat first-years if it decided they didn't belong in its master's house, set eyes on him and immediately fell silent. She looked down at her hands, suddenly feeling quite light-headed and heavy-hearted again. Of course, he strode over with his dazzling smile, flicking his mop of dark blonde hair from his eyes. Narcissa wanted to grab it and rip it from his scalp.

"Cissa," he drawled, pushing his sleeves up as though to expose his sinewy muscles, "I was just looking for you. How are you?" His voice was full of concern, which Narcissa easily looked past. He was mocking her. He was a stupid little boy playing games of 'I want, give me now', which was only fun when Narcissa was playing it and winning.

Narcissa looked past Crowley to Bella, who was concentrating entirely on knitting, ignoring him completely. Even Andy was simply watching with interest, giving no sign of security or assistance, and she knew that looking at Maurice would only get Narcissa a nod of approval, a sign to speak in a civilised, fiancée's manner. She turned instead to stare at the fire. "I am fine, thank you, Toby," she muttered stiffly. She revelled in the knowledge that his dazzling smile would be faltering from the use of his much-hated nickname.

"Oh, I'm so glad," he replied, though he didn't sound glad at all. "What were you doing, running off like that, you silly wench?"

Wench. _Wench? _Narcissa turned to glare at him, feeling anger bubbling up her throat and infecting her voice box. _How dare he? _

Crowley, however, didn't seem to notice that he had offended her. "Whatever, anyway, my parents have said that you should come and stay at my house over the Easter holiday. We can sort out the marriage arrangements and what not."

Narcissa's eyes narrowed, and she rose from the chair, pushing herself out of it. Her stomach had by now completely left its respective place and all the pain of her body seemed to intensify, her bubbles of happiness blown up by Professor Malfoy bursting under the wavering façade of wit and charm in Crowley's gaze. She felt dizzy, the room swimming in a blur of black walls and green flames and white shirts. She had to leave, and voiced this in a mutter, moving towards the portrait hole.

"Oi, don't you ignore me," Crowley growled, and she felt his fingers close, hard, on her arm. All concealment by now had gone, and he looked quite angry at her disobedience and lack of enthusiasm at the prospect of staying with him and his porky parents. "You're my fiancée," he reminded her in a low growl, moving closer, "and you will respect me."

Bellatrix looked up from her knitting to stare at Crowley's back, murderously. She and Andromeda watched the proceedings with bated breath, determining when to interrupt. Maurice was watching with mild interest, as though it was completely normal, which it probably was with Walden.

However, Narcissa didn't need help, for with as much vehemence as she could muster, she snarled, "I'm going to see if there are sausages left." She yanked her arm from his grip, leaving her acquaintances and family watching her incredulously. Crowley's eyes narrowed in confusion before widening. He gaped like a fish out of water, barely any noise coming from his mouth except a dull sound as he tried to find something to say in his defence, but Narcissa had already whipped around and stalked off out of the portrait hole.

She was annoyed. She felt like she was about to cry. She needed, so much, to be alone, away from her fair-weather friends and mentally challenged sisters and wart of a 'fiancée'. For a moment, for a crazy, unthinking moment, she considered running back into the Forbidden Forest. She could wander back among the trees and not go too far in this time. She'd lasted at least a night before, she could do it again! _Find a quiet place as opposed to running off and nearly getting yourself killed. _Professor Malfoy's words echoed through her head, quenching almost all notion of running off into the forest. No, no, she could go out there again. She could. _Yes?_

_Bastard._

"Fine, Sir," she sighed into the empty corridor. Her resigned voice echoed back at her but she ignored it, making her way purposefully up to the Entrance Hall and subsequently up to the seventh floor corridor, waving little puffs of steam every now and again from her ears.

The seventh floor was very much empty when she finished ascending the stairs up to it, slightly out of breath. Her muscles ached and there was quite a piercing pain in her ankle, so she pulled one of the many phials out of her robes. It was a pale yellow and tasted of butter when she allowed a drop to drip onto her tongue. She instantly felt regenerated, the pain in her ankle subsiding for now and her aching body no longer protesting. She replaced it in her pocket, taking note of exactly where she put it among the other phials for she suspected she would be needing it again soon.

"Right, tapestry of a man teaching trolls to ballet dance," Narcissa murmured to herself, taking a moment to watch the trolls lumber after the tutu-clad man, who was looking rather nervous as he pirouetted. "Opposite the tapestry." She turned to look at the very blank expanse of wall, staring at it incredulously, as though if she did for long enough it would give up its secrets. It kept on staring resolutely back. "Right," Narcissa repeated, bracing herself to feel incredibly ridiculous.

Staring at the wall, as though daring it to laugh at her, Narcissa thought idly, _I need somewhere quiet to stay for a while. _She walked past it once. Turned and walked past it again, thinking the same thing. And then turned and walked past it again, repeating the thought. She stopped, staring at the wall expectantly, but it remained just that. A wall.

Leaning forwards, Narcissa couldn't help but pout as she inspected the wall for some sort of minute handle or doorknob, some sort of button to reveal the door to her. There was nothing. She even crouched down, looking around suspiciously in case anyone happened to be watching her, and looked around for some sort of miniature entrance. Nothing.

Narcissa felt the prickle of a combination of stupidity and irritation crawl up her spine. She folded her arms and glowered at the wall, as though to threaten a door to reveal itself. She then, for good measure, walked past the door three more times, thinking of her quiet place. Still, nothing.

_Perhaps Professor Malfoy was lying to me. Perhaps he's watching right now, smirking in that jumped-up, superior, mightier-than-thou way. Maybe he should remove the stick from his-_

"R'lly conc'ntrate on it," came a shout from the tapestry opposite her. Narcissa looked over her shoulder to find the man shaking in his ballet pumps as the trolls began their slow descent onto him, grunting and groaning, but he was staring at her. His hand was creating a mad spiral motion, as though to spur her on. "Fink r'lly 'ard."

Narcissa, not wanting to take advice from a clearly deluded cluster of detailed stitches, was hesitant at first. She could quite happily go on standing there with her arms folded cursing Professor Malfoy to high heaven, but the curiosity soon got the better of her. She sighed, resigning herself, and began to walk past the wall again.

She closed her eyes, clearing her mind of everything and concentrating hard on the thought, _I need somewhere quiet, somewhere less life-threatening than the forest. _She stopped, turned and began walking back. _I need somewhere where I won't be found, somewhere lovely, where I can spend all the time I want. _She stopped, turned and walked past the wall a final time. _I need somewhere where I can go to escape. Please._

She opened her eyes reluctantly, not expecting anything to be there. To her surprise, a door had materialised in the wall. Her eyes widened before a smile graced her face. "Thank you," she called over her shoulder to the tapestry, though she was fairly sure her words were lost under the shouts of the man, the grunting of trolls and the tearing sounds of tutus. Regardless of the stitching, however, she reached out and took hold of the cool door handle. She had no idea what was behind it, but was fairly sure that, since Professor Malfoy had suggested it, it was quite safe. Still, couldn't be too careful. She counted to three, steeled her nerves, and pushed the door open.

She was met immediately by the smell of summer, the air drenched with the undeniable scents of flowers and pollen. Her mouth fell open just a little as she looked into the room – or was it a room? The ceiling, which was clearly enchanted for she thought for a moment that there was none at all on the top of this room and it was exposed entirely to the elements, was mimicking the azure blue of a summer sky, clouds ambling across the bright sun. The floor, as she stepped into the room, felt like it comprised entirely of real grass, though it was soft as cotton wool against her hand as she crouched down to feel it. Here and there were dotted flowers, daisies and buttercups and even a sunflower or two, which felt likewise, completely life-like though not entirely so. A fat bumblebee buzzed past her ear, meandering around the air on wings too small for its overgrown, fuzzy body, and disappeared as it contacted the wall of the room. She was surprised at first, for Narcissa only discovered it was a wall when she went over to inspect where the bee had disappeared, pressing her hand against what felt like cold stone; the walls were painted with grass and sky, clouds moving past and grass swaying in a gentle, non-existent breeze just as it was doing around her feet. The walls just looked like the meadow was stretching on forever, on all sides, the only thing disturbing this incredible world trapped in summer being the door back out into the corridor which stood reassuringly in the middle of the landscape.

_Yes. Yes, this will definitely work better than the Forbidden Forest, _she decided as she removed her robes, pushing up her sleeves and skirt. She sat down to expose her arms and legs to the warm caress of the sun, smiling in utter contentment. She soon fell back to lie down in the grass, robes acting as a pillow behind her head, picking out shapes in the clouds and counting butterflies which ambled languidly past her. She didn't care they merely disappeared into the walls. It was her little haven, and it was as real as she wanted it to be. Therefore, it was very, very real indeed.

Narcissa spent what felt like all night in that room, in that meadow. As she lay there different flowers had begun sprouting up around her, their growth at an accelerated rate until little yellow buds were fully bloomed daffodils within minutes, which pleased Narcissa greatly. She spent a great amount of time making it her business to pick every dandelion and blow every last seed off into the wind, making numerous wishes which she tried hard to not include Professor Malfoy in, so when she reluctantly left the room, closing the door securely behind her, she was surprised to see that the man was still getting mauled by trolls.

"Told yah," he groaned at her, giving her a thumbs up, before one began pounding him with a club.

Narcissa winced but nodded, thanking him again quietly and moving to the nearest window in the seventh floor corridor. The sky was red with tufts of pink candy-floss clouds and students were wandering across the grounds to return to their common rooms before curfew came into effect and Filch few off his broomstick. It was still early evening.

"Hm," Narcissa murmured to herself. She turned back to look at the blank expanse of wall in which she had just come out of, and had to pull herself away to descend the stairs back to her common room. She could not allow herself to become lost, she decided then and there.

However, when one is lost in a beautiful world of one's own, one may find it hard to break away back to reality. Especially when reality is not as enthralling or extraordinary. The line between ideals and reality begins to thin, and one may lose oneself and forget to live. Such things can influence all too easily on a young mind; Narcissa found herself returning to her little secret, her little quiet place, almost every day.

Every day, the man in the tapestry across from her was having his umpteenth attempt at teaching the trolls ballet, but every day he recognised Narcissa and waved heartily at her. She had even become on first name terms with him, answering with a polite, "Good evening, Barnabas."

The room was barely ever the same. Every time Narcissa walked past three times, asking for a quiet place, it would come up with something new. An extensive library of all of Narcissa's favourite books, a bedroom with numerous phials of yellow potion when she was feeling particularly ill and worn one day, a beach where the water felt so real that she was convinced that she was actually there. Though the room wasn't always kind. Once it had turned into what looked remarkably like the inside of a coffin, supposedly on one of its off days, and so Narcissa had walked straight back out. Another day it had transformed into what looked like a ward of St. Mungos in which the patients were particularly mangled and suffering from magical medical maladies. She had walked straight back out then, too. When it was feeling lazy it returned to the meadow, which Narcissa didn't mind in the slightest for it was beautiful and it was all hers.

However, her frequent disappearances after dinner were not going unnoticed, for it wasn't often she left the common room at all in the evening: "Cissy, where are you going?" Bellatrix simpered in the common room on one stuffy March night. She had given up knitting and had recently taken to a new hobby of sitting on the sofa, polishing her dagger, making her look a whole lot more threatening.

Narcissa glanced up from her parchment, on which she was scrawling 'The Attributes and Correct Brewing of Wolfsbane Potion' to be handed in for the morning after. Her eyes flicked to Maurice, on Walden's lap, who shrugged. "I'm not going anywhere, Bella. I'm staying right here," Narcissa said patiently, and just a little condescendingly. She lowered her eyes to return to her parchment.  
>"No, no. Every night, Cissy," Bellatrix replied, with just a little ice in her voice at the patronising. Her sugary smile remained in her bared canines, though there was the underlying hint of poison within the sweetness. "You're not going to see anyone, are you, dear Cissy?" There was a sing-song, lilting tone to Bella's voice which left no question in Narcissa's mind about what she was implying.<p>

"No, I am not," she said resolutely, staring down at her parchment and ignoring the confused stare of Maurice. Rodolphus, who had been released from the Hospital Wing the previous week, shifted uncomfortably on the floor, casting Narcissa a warning glance which she ignored. He took a deep drag of his Flintley's, pushing a few wayward spirals of his dark curly hair from his forehead.

"Hm, are you sure?" Bellatrix purred, leaning forward to trace the edge of her dagger across Rodolphus' throat as though to test its sharpness. He winced and shied away a little, so she seemed quite content, sitting back.

Narcissa nodded curtly. "Positive, thank you, Bella." Though, when all descended back into semi-comfortable silence, she was struck by the thought. _Why _don't _I see Professor Malfoy when I am in the Room of Requirement? No one would ever find us. We'd be completely alone. I mean, nothing will happen. No, never again. Never ever. But it would be nice to not be…completely alone? And he is the only person, after all, who knows about it too. _

She peeked up at Bellatrix who was running her fingers through the soft tangles of Rodolphus' hair, clearly very preoccupied in doing so, just to make sure she wasn't somehow surreptitiously invading her little sister's mind, and crossed out the title at the top of the parchment without drawing too much attention to it. Beneath it, she scribbled a few brief words, hunching over the parchment just to make sure no one was looking over her shoulder and, after doing so, feigned a very large yawn.

"Well, I'm exhausted," she clarified, as she stretched ostentatiously, "I'm going to bed. Goodnight all."

There was a dull chorus of "Goodnight," from her friendly acquaintances, except Maurice whose lips were quite busy with Walden's, as she packed up her stationary and made her way up to her dormitory, with no intentions to yet fall asleep.

* * *

><p>"You got my note then?" Miss Black questioned, the smile evident in her voice.<p>

"Well I am here, at the stated place and the stated time, am I not? It was hard not to get it," Lucius admitted, greeting her with an incline of his head as he ascended the stairs up to the seventh floor corridor, "since the bird you attached it to almost pecked off my fingers until I opened and read the note in front of it."

Miss Black giggled. It was melodious. "Yes, well, it took me a lot of effort to get it to you. Lying to Bellatrix and casting a Disillusionment Charm on myself to get out of the common room unnoticed. Do you know how hard it is to get to the Owlery so late in the evening?"

"Well, I do apologise for troubling you," Lucius smirked, ignoring the cheers of Barnabas when one of the trolls, having a good day, managed to hop into the air, "And how may I help you, in any case?"

"Well, Professor, it was you who suggested this rather…intriguing room to me, therefore I thought it only appropriate that it should be you to accompany me inside when I get a little" – She held her hand up, her thumb and forefinger separated by a few millimetres. – "_too _lonely. Since you don't want me running off and getting myself killed."

Lucius had to conceal a smirk at the verbatim vocalisation. The way she seemed to soak in his every word pleased him immensely. "Well, it would seem that is a dilemma which I can indeed solve. I believe I can find enough time in my hectic schedule for a student in need."

"Oh, I am so glad," she breathed mockingly, though the smile which seemed to uncontrollably grace her face was proof enough that she didn't seem mad at him anymore. Quite the opposite, really, for everything seemed to have been forgotten. _Can she forget that easily? Can she disregard what I am that quickly?_

He ignored the knotting feeling in the pit of his stomach, for it bothered him that he could not put a definite name to it, and watched as Miss Black methodically paced in front of the bare expanse of wall. Lucius noticed how, as she clenched her eyes shut in concentration, the bridge of her nose creased in a way which could only be described as cute. And Lucius Malfoy most certainly did not consider much cute.

When the door appeared in the stone, Miss Black looked expectantly at Lucius. She cleared her throat.

"Ah, of course, allow me," Lucius responded, bowing his head and moving to the door. He tilted the handle down, opened the door and proffered the room beyond to Miss Black. "After you."

Miss Black did not get far into the room, however. She was stood, stock-still, in the doorway, seemingly staring at the what lay beyond. Lucius, peering finally around the door, could see why.

The room appeared to be taken directly from a hotel. Over on the wall opposite the door was painted the view of a night-time cityscape, the sky an inky black injected with purple, which was visible through open French doors which led onto a painted but very life-like indeed balcony. It was not hard to fathom what city it was, exactly, for the not too inconspicuous form of the Eiffel Tower loomed not too far away. The rest of the walls were painted a light cream (except for a painting which stood out from the very plain walls, which Lucius immediately recognised as a C_é_zanne landscape), though the ceiling which had been enchanted to mimic the night sky beyond the balcony. A four-poster bed, king-sized if Lucius were to hazard a guess, was pressed up against the right wall, covered with thick, light golden sheets and surrounded by weightless, airy white drapes which matched the French window curtains. At the end of the bed was a white chaise lounge, melding perfectly with the thick white carpet. A white grand piano dominated the top left corner of the room, while a fire burnt merrily in the top right, surrounded by a marble mantelpiece on top of which was a candelabra with its candles also lit. Lucius followed Miss Black's gaze and his eyes rested on the two bedside tables, one at either side of the bed, on top of both standing a small, ornate vase contained a blooming white rose.

He swallowed hard. "So, what exactly were you thinking of?"

Miss Black immediately rounded on him. She was blushing a few shades darker than a pink that could be considered pale. "Just somewhere quiet!" she exclaimed defensively.

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "Then what is going on in your subconscious I do not want to know." He entered the room and shut the door with a satisfyingly loud click. There was the strange hint of a breeze coming in from the non-existent open windows. "Though a five-star hotel in Paris. I must admit I admire your taste."

She flushed darker, pouting and looking away. Lucius felt the sudden rush of possessiveness yet again, the need to cup her cheek, bring her face up and take her lips as his own. He resisted, however, for he supposed that she still hadn't completely gotten over that memory. Though how he could expect her to ever get over that he didn't know.

He sighed and, to busy himself, consulted his pocket watch. It was pointless, however, for the hands were going completely berserk, flying around the clock face in mad spirals. The second hand was ticking anti-clockwise. "Oh," he observed mildly, "how strange." Still clasped onto his waistcoat by its thin chain he held the watch aloft for Miss Black to see, who also seemed quite pleased at the distraction.

"Time doesn't seem to work here. It's no bad thing," Miss Black commented idly, shrugging. Seeming to finally accept the form that the room had taken, she made the most of it by seating herself on the chaise lounge. "Do you play?" she inquired politely, motioning to the piano. Lucius noticed, again, how one foot folded demurely behind the other when she sat, and she placed her hands primly in her lap.

_Master Crowley doesn't deserve that. He would never appreciate such purity, such beau-_

"Professor?" Miss Black encouraged.

"I…Yes," Lucius uttered, nodding curtly as though in an attempt to regain some composure. "Well, that is to say I haven't played in a fair few years." When she merely stared at him expectantly, he sighed and approached the piano. He stroked the edge of the lid carefully, looked beneath it at the inner workings. "All seems to be in order," he murmured. To Miss Black's continued pointed stare, he sat himself resignedly on the white piano stool.

He brushed his fingers gently over the keys. Ivory and ebony, the finest quality. "Bear in mind I may be a little rusty," he conceded humbly as he pushed the cuffs of his shirt a little more up his wrists. Miss Black did not reply, only watched him patiently.

Lucius sighed again, bracing himself. He pushed his hair, once again recently conditioned to a perfect shine, over his shoulders as it was loose and so it did not get in the way, before returning his hands to their correct positioning on the keys. He steeled himself, ghosting his fingers over the keys momentarily to get a phantom of the feel he once had on them in his youth. Then he began to play.

He began simply on himself, so not to be embarrassed, but needn't have worried. His fingers moved almost of their own accord, with practised ease even after all of the years which had forsaken him. _E D# E D# E B D C A_. It was like reading, or riding a broomstick. Simple, almost innate after his many years of training. It felt nostalgic to handle the piano in such a way, and carried with it a sense of freedom, of authority; he was completely in control of the entire mechanics of the instrument. The way he liked it.

He shifted easily from Beethoven's Für Elise to Debussy's Clair de Lune, which he thought more fitting, being in the likeliness of France with the moonlight streaming in through the window. He kept his eyes firmly on his fingers as they danced over the keys, pressing and teasing exactly the right places to elicit the correct sounds to produce the most beautiful melodies. He treated the piano like a woman, kept light on his fingers and made sure at all times to remain looking eloquent and graceful; he was very tempted to hunch as he shifted once again into Tchaikovsky's Waltz of the Flowers, becoming more entranced and captivated by the whispers of pleasure elicited from deep inside the grand piano, but made sure to keep his back straight, respectable and charming. He was sorely tempted, more than once, to look over at Miss Black, but knew that the instrument before him needed all of his attentiveness to maintain the soft sighs of rapture that his lithe fingers produced. He resisted until his fingers hit one final, resounding note and his eyes flicked up to Miss Black's face.

Her mouth was slightly open, a sliver of pearly white teeth visible through her cerise lips. She looked utterly captivated, beyond thinking of anything but watching Lucius play, though there was something in her eyes which he thought he recognised. "Must you stop?" she breathed.

Lucius felt his lips twitch involuntarily into a semi-smile. "I must at some point, Miss Black." He found himself having to bite his tongue. He had very nearly not said 'Miss Black'. How lost did he have to be in that room that 'ma chérie' nearly slipped from his mouth, and had felt very natural on his lips? Maybe because of the surroundings he had meant it mockingly. Yes, yes that was it. Definitely.

Miss Black, quite oblivious to Lucius' internal struggle, simply sighed, reclining on the chaise lounge. "Can we stay here for all time?"

Lucius smirked, looking down as he brushed his hand over the keys. "I think someone may notice our absences."

"No, no they wouldn't," Miss Black objected, the smile obvious in her voice, "One day everyone will forget we existed. Maybe one day we may even question our own existence, but what does it matter when we can live in a more beautiful world than what is outside that door, forever?"

Lucius laughed hollowly. He absently hit the lowest note on the piano, creating a deep, throaty complaint which resonated around the room. "Forever? You want to remain forever with a murder-"

"No, don't say it," Miss Black cut in sharply. She sat back up, suddenly looking stern. "This, in here, is not our world. In here you are Lucius and I am Narcissa and we don't have a past, or a future. We just have now. Understood?"

Lucius considered this for a few moments, mulling over her sternness. He slowly nodded. "I can handle that, Miss Black."

"Ah ah," she scolded, though her smile had returned.

Lucius smirked slightly. "_Narcissa._"

"Much better, Lucius." There was a comfortable silence for a minute, in which they chanced glances at each other, Lucius stroking the keys on the piano idly and Miss Black gazing down at her entwining fingers. Then; "In the forest, I saw something, Prof- Lucius."

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "I thought we had no pasts, hm?"

"But this is important," Miss Black insisted, and Lucius turned on the piano stool to bestow upon her his full attention. "Before I passed out and woke up in the Hospital Wing I saw…I saw a bird. Some…Bright bird. It found me. I think it was a swan." She seemed to know how insane she sounded, for she sought Lucius' face as though for reassurance. She did not have to look far to receive it.

"That was my Patronus," he explained mildly, as though it were the most simple thing in the world. "It's a defensive technique against Dementors, usually," he explained patiently to Miss Black's confused expression, "but more powerful wizards can control them in other ways, to send messages or, if one can sustain them long enough, find lost girls in very deep, dark parts of a forest, for example." He smirked softly. Miss Black, however, looked deep in contemplation, studying lucius meditatively.

"Then you really did find me?" she uttered, "My fiancée doesn't even notice me" – Lucius had to control a physical wince at the thought of Master Crowley, for he was quite content with the thought of never mentioning him again. It was torture enough teaching the smarmy git. – "yet you sought me in the coldest and darkest recesses of Hell? Without stopping?"

Lucius brought his hand up to brush over his clean-shaven cheek, considering his answer. "Yes," he concluded on, simply. "I am your teacher, I have t-"

"Quiet, Lucius," Miss Black whispered, rising from the chaise lounge. Before he could even work out what she was doing her lips were on his, her arms around his neck. Her hands gripped his collar, tugging him to stand.

Lucius did so as he finally found the appropriate answer, coaxing his lips to kiss her back. His hand found the perfect position upon her jaw, his fingers easily fitting the defined but gentle curve which shaped her face, his fingertips resting upon the back of her neck. Her hands had left his collar as he stood, but felt her fingers stroking up his chest, snaking up onto his shoulders and wrapping back around his neck, deepening the kiss. He placed his free hand onto her waist, slowing inching it further to wrap it around her slightly hips.

The kiss was slow and controlled, but still passionate. Their eyes closed and their bodies pressed closer, so desperate for the feel of one another after so long apart. What had it been, four months since they were in his bed? Oh, how he missed the smell of her skin, of the vanilla perfume which still lingered around her throat. He pulled her a little closer to him.

Miss Black was the first to break the kiss. She stared up at Lucius, her hands snaking up into his hair and letting it fall in cascading rivulets through her fingers. He stared back, and there again was that curious knotting sensation in the pit of his stomach, twisting, coiling tightly and almost painfully. _She is so innocent. She belongs to another. I must stop this now._

"Narcissa," he murmured.

She shook her head before he could say anymore. She was biting her lip and her eyes appeared glassy, the moisture in them reflecting the stars on the ceiling and the flickering of the fire. Lucius couldn't help but think of a sky trapped underneath an ocean as he searched them. "Don't, Lucius."

But he had to. "I can't give you what you want."

Miss Black clenched her eyes shut and shook her head defiantly. "All I want is you," she whispered, her voice hushed, thick with emotion.

Lucius' brow furrowed. He couldn't do it again. He couldn't hurt her again. Yet she seemed so very sure as she stared unwaveringly back, her fingers teasing through his hair. Miss Bellatrix Black's threats ran through his head, warnings of touching the youngest Miss Black, but he could feel his resolve crumbling beneath him, the foundations of everything he had once been so sure of falling in front of his eyes. _Turn back now, Lucius. Turn back while you still have the chance. Let her go._

His hand stroked down her jaw, resting beneath her chin. He raised her head slightly. "Then I'll give you nothing less," he replied, just as quietly. Then his lips descended on hers, for there was no more need for words.

They had all the time in the world. Buttons were languidly undone, slivers of skin kissed with every pale inch which became exposed. They danced their way to the bed in their tight embrace, a waltz of discarded clothes and heated touches, heavy breaths and soft noises of contentment, passionate kisses and the gradual flush of skin touching skin. When they fell onto the soft sheets, Miss Black on top of Lucius, they were dressed only in their underwear, lace and silk moving into one another in the sweetest of rhythms as their kiss found no relent. He unclasped her bra with ease, and she let it slide off her arms. It was discarded onto the floor with the rest of their clothes.

Then Lucius saw it. The glinting of metal. He stared at the engagement ring around Miss Black's finger and glanced back up at her. She followed his gaze and bit her lip.

"No, no," she whispered, holding a decorous, ringless hand over her mouth, "what am I doing? I am to be married." She stared down at Lucius, seeking guidance, her chest rising and falling as she breathed heavily in her need for the man beneath her.

Lucius considered the ring for a moment, before holding it within his thumb and forefinger. "Here," he purred softly, slowly slipping the band from her hand, "you are Narcissa and I am Lucius, and we don't have a past or a future. We just" – He inspected the ring in the dull light of the fire. – "have now." He threw it somewhere over his head and it landed somewhere unknown, soundlessly. "Understood?"

Miss Black needed no more persuasion. She leant in and kissed his with more vigour, coaxing a deeper embrace from him which he was only too content to allow her. His hands stroked up her sensitive sides, over her back as she pressed her body into his. They held her petite body tightly to him as he fluidly turned them both over, Lucius now on top of Miss Black's slender form, between her legs. He leant back to pull her underwear smoothly over her legs, doing the same with his own, slowly. He accommodated himself back within Miss Black's awaiting limbs which wrapped around his body securely.

Lucius longed to hear her speak further, for he recently suspected, for almost five entire days, that he would never hear her voice again. He had thought at first that he would never find her, and then thought that she would never wake. He had resigned himself to the fact that he would never be able to drown in the oceans of blue behind her fluttering lashes again. He thought he would never again be able to stroke her skin and find it warm, and most certainly never would have even begun to hope that she would move to his touch anymore, respond to the fire in his fingertips which seemed to ignite her so.

He knew he should stop. He knew he should let her go there and then, gone no further, left her to marry Tobias Crowley and live her life, happy, without him. But he found his lips pressing to hers like a dying man desperately seeking repentance from the feet of the Virgin Mary, his hands seeking the feel of her fingers entwining with his, his body searching for the heat of hers. She was returning his administrations with a similar neediness, gasping into his mouth in encouragement, her fingers pressing into the backs of his hands in desperation.

When he slowly pushed into her, the feeling of bliss threatened to consume him completely.

"Lucius," Miss Black whispered against his lips, eyes closed and inner walls clenching around him at his intrusion. "Please."

The fuck, so unlike any other previous, was slow and sweet. Lucius kept controlled, rolling his hips to rub easily into her g-spot and move his pelvis into her clitoris. She moaned softly in time with Lucius' gentle thrusts, her hands leaving his and entwining in his hair as he kissed her neck, drinking in her scent as though it were the Elixir of Life itself. Her hips inevitably began to quiver, as always, as he pushed repeatedly into the sensitive spots which only he knew, _only I will ever know_, picking up a slightly faster but still gentle pace, adding to the intensity, the friction.

Miss Black whispered his name repeatedly, beseeching him to not stop, don't stop, oh, Lucius, please don't stop. Her hands stroked through his hair, her nails drawing lightly across the paleness of his shoulders and leaving even whiter marks, which faded back into his skin almost immediately. She stroked down his back, kissing his neck, his shoulders, breathing his name until it was lost entirely in the soft moans of her exhalations.

Lucius felt her tense around his length, heard her soft mewls and pleas become more desperate, more needy. He picked up a slightly faster rhythm, pushing deeper and harder into her g-spot. Her legs wrapped tightly around his hips, guiding him to remain in this new rhythm, moaning deep in her throat, her back arching, pressing her breasts to his chest as she gripped onto his toned upper arms on either side of her. Their bodies were slick, the perspiration making their figures almost glow in the artificial starlight, the warmth of the fire, of their flushed bodies, adding to their intensity. Lucius groaned rhythmically as he maintained this new pace, pushing and pulling his hips regularly and deeply, making her clench, contract, her toes curling which he felt from the tensing of her shins around him.

He cupped her cheek, his lips descending on hers to mask the deep groan of her name as she came, her cunt convulsing, quivering, gripping his length hard inside her, and brought him over the edge without much persuasion. He groaned deeply as the orgasm blossomed in his abdomen, shot and rippled to all parts of his body instantly, making him feel suddenly light-headed and weak. He shuddered as the sensations soared up his spine, shaking from the intensity, from the way in which Miss Black was still crying out against his lips and convulsing on his cock as he continued moving within her, maintaining and riding out their orgasms. Her eyes were clenched shut, still at her peak, her back arched and head thrown back in her ecstasy. Lucius watched her face, watched the shape her mouth made as she elicited her cries of passion, noticed the crease in the bridge of her nose and observed how radiant her skin looked, how bright and fresh during her afterglow.

She was beautiful.

Breathing heavily, labouredly, Miss Black slowly opened her eyes only as Lucius pulled out of her. She was still shaking, her arms which wrapped around his neck weak and trembling against the back of his neck. He brushed a few strands of hair from the perspiration on her forehead, moving it back with the rest of her soft curls.

"So," Lucius murmured, "about that staying here forever."

* * *

><p>They left the Room of Requirement what felt like hours later. Professor Malfoy, after consulting his watch, found it still very much broken, but looking out of the nearest window over Narcissa's shoulder confirmed that it was still early evening.<p>

"See," she smiled, "no one will ever know. Now-"

The barely audible hiss of "_Legilimens_," somewhere down the corridor was enough to make her lose her smile. She had no time to prepare her Occlumency to combat the spell when the assailant was already in her mind. The foreign consciousness was powerful, merciless, unrelenting as it easily gained access into Narcissa's most private thoughts.

_No no no,_ Narcissa pleaded, helpless to stop the attacker as they brutally took memories, images, thoughts of Professor Malfoy, her _with_ Professor Malfoy, _the memory of the Bones'._

Powerless, Narcissa waited for the onslaught of her consciousness to finish. It was over within seconds, so quickly that Professor Malfoy had no time to ask what was wrong, but it felt to Narcissa like hours. She felt herself begin to collapse as she was left to her own mind, alone. Professor Malfoy gripped her tightly, supporting her.

"Miss Black," he demanded, holding her up easily, "what's wrong?"

Narcissa felt tears spill out onto her cheeks. "S-somebody knows," she choked.

"Knows what?"

"Everything," came a voice, barely a few metres down the dark corridor. It spoke as if in syrup, the tone so sweet that it was sickly, yet so poisonous that Narcissa felt herself becoming more and more terrified at the mere sound. It was high and lilting, yet murderous. "And my my, haven't you been a bad boy?" Bellatrix sang.

* * *

><p><strong>12,000 words and it is 4a.m. I think I went a bit overboard.<strong>

**Either way, you're all brilliant and deserve something special, so hopefully you thought this was.**

**Thank you for reading thus far. c:**


	16. Chapter 16

**Again, thank you so much to all of you who reviewed the last chapter. This one would have not come into existence so fast without you guys.**

**I am fairly proud of this chapter, since when I began my mind was utterly blank at how to approach it.**

**As always, I hope you enjoy.~**

* * *

><p>"No, absolutely not, Miss Black," Lucius growled sternly. His face was set and his eyes were hard.<p>

"Why not?" Miss Black spat like a hissing cobra, eyes narrowing at Lucius. All pretence of innocence and childishness was gone. All that was left of Miss Bellatrix Black was an unwavering mask of malice. "You are one."

"That makes no difference, Miss Black!" he exclaimed, fighting the urge to slam his fists on his office desk. His brow was furrowed, matching the anger of Miss Black's face. He cleared his throat irritably in an attempt to regain some composure and continued more calmly, "I will not allow it. You have heard about it only from the Daily Prophet. You do not know what it entails, and you do not know the things which are expected from us."

"I _saw _what you did, _Professor_," Miss Black declared angrily, her voice rising to almost a scream and hands gripping the office chair opposite Lucius', "and if you do not let me become a follower of Lord Voldemort than Azkaban will also see!"

Lucius pressed his hands to his face irritably, wishing for bed. He was tired and the dull thud of a very painful headache was pounding behind his left eye.

_I need a drink._

In the seventh floor corridor, after Miss Black had learnt everything, she had lost all sense of calm and control. Lucius remembered the look in her wide eyes of utter betrayal and hatred before the curses had started flying. Red lights and flashes had lit up the dark corridor, mostly poorly aimed presumably for the wrathful sheet of red obscuring her vision, though more than one had hit the tapestry of the ballet-dancing trolls, setting it alight and forcing the occupants to lumber off to find another tapestry for sanctuary.

He had stood in front of the youngest Miss Back to stop her getting hit, receiving a Cruciatus Curse straight in the chest before he could withdraw his wand from his cane to protect himself. Luckily, Master Lestrange, who had been lurking in the corridor behind Miss Black, had grabbed her elbows, using his superior weight to control her quickly. Lucius was breathless, winded, but thankfully there had been only a moment of pain between his lungs, like a dagger thrown into his ribcage.

"Go," he had told Miss Narcissa Black, directing her towards the stairs while Master Lestrange pinned her struggling, shouting older counterpart against the wall. She had looked back at him as she descended the stairs, lips parted slightly in an apology that wouldn't seem to come, eyes wide and filled with tears of fear. Or was it regret?

The rest seemed a blur. Together, he and Master Lestrange had subdued Miss Bellatrix Black by pinning her writing, spitting form to the wall and removing her wand from her clawing fingers. She had been shrieking bloody murder, dark untameable hair dishevelled and wild around her face and eyes set on Lucius, just as wild. She quietened only when Lucius pulled out his wand and pressed it against her throat, directly above her pulse.

"You know what I am capable of," he snarled in a single hushed breath. He didn't have much else to lose, after all. Miss Black soon stilled, glaring reproachfully and with a hatred in her eyes which contained such passion that, if he did not know better, could probably be confused with desire. Lucius settled on the idea that it was bloodlust.

"Now, if you are going to be a good girl and hold your tongue," Lucius had hissed quickly, glancing around nervously to make sure they were still alone in the corridor, "we shall discuss this predicament like civil people. If not, I shall rid you and Master Lestrange of your memories here and now. Do I make myself clear?"

Miss Black seemed to consider his stern tone, his hard eyes, and bared her teeth to him. "I warned you about touching my sister," she snarled in a voice devoid of its usual infantile sugar, "and now I find that you've been showing her your sick games, _murderer."_

Lucius had felt Master Lestrange's eyes on him and stared defiantly into Miss Black's. "As I said, allow us to discuss it as reasonable adults."

She had laughed scornfully. "What is there to say, _Professor_? You have stolen my little Cissy and have murdered the family of a student. What more is left? You are going to rot in Azkaban," she growled, the last statement a threatening whisper.

Lucius had raised her wand. "And if they discovered the last spell you have performed? As it is an Unforgivable you would be in the cell beside me. Come quietly to my office and we shall talk civilly about this."

Miss Black had stared coldly at Lucius, her hands curling into fists so tight that her nails punctured the palm of her hands. She glanced at Master Lestrange who nodded once. "C'mon, Bella," he said softly.

She had bared her teeth again but hissed irritably, "Fine."

Thus, after Lucius had repaired the tapestry on the seventh floor, they found themselves in Lucius' office after quite the awkwardly silent walk with Miss Black's wand still held tightly in Lucius' fingers. Safely away from the corridors of Hogwarts, closing the door, Lucius had expected her to lunge at him, to rip and tear his skin with her hands, nails, teeth since she had no other means to do so. However, Miss Black had seemed almost docile, to his surprise. She had merely sat down in the chair opposite his, in which he had situated himself, and said, very simply, "You have taken my little sister. Repeatedly. One day I will kill you for it. However, there is a much more pressing matter for now."

Lucius had raised an eyebrow. "And that would be?"

"I want to join Lord Voldemort." It had been stern, demanding, final. "I want to be a Death Eater."

Therefore presently Lucius found himself with Miss Black staring at him with nought but vehemence at being denied, his head in his hands and very much wanting to be drunk in bed. He rubbed his temple in an attempt to rid himself of the headache which felt like an impending migraine. The numerous threats of Azkaban were getting to him.

"You do not know what it entails, Miss Black," he repeated as he pulled his hands away from his face, leaning back into his chair. "It is a lifetime of servitude. He is rising to power thus you will not be able to back out. The things he will ask of you are dangerous and far beyond your years and capabilities. Remain out of it."

"He is rising to power," Miss Black repeated, and Lucius was sure he heard a note of excitement in her voice, "therefore we shall join him sooner or later."

Lucius glanced up at Master Lestrange at the use of 'we', standing behind Miss Black's chair at her right side. He looked pale, almost sick. Nervous, as though hoping this day would never come. Clearly Miss Black had been reading about Death Eater activity and had wanted a taste of the apple herself. Purely for the power, no doubt, though the Muggle killing was probably not a deterrent. Lucius had never seen his beater look so afraid, and could accurately guess that he didn't really fancy the idea of being a follower as much as Miss Black.

"Perhaps that is so," Lucius conceded, returning his eyes to Miss Black's, "but I will not be the one responsible. Who you support is your choice, but I will have no part of it."

"But imagine we join him before he comes knocking at our doors, Professor," she hissed, almost seductively, clearly excited at the prospect now. The hatred was still there in her eyes, but there was also a sort of wonderment, like some kind of sick fascination. "Imagine how loyal he will think us." She leant forwards in her seat. "Imagine how we will be rewarded. We will be his most precious, his most faithful servants. I shall vow that here and now, Professor, if you let us join him."

Lucius sneered, raising his head slightly to survey her. "You are children. You could not please him."

Miss Black's face split into a mirthful smile, though it was still somehow frightful. "My sister is also a child, yet she hasn't done too badly with you, she hasn't, Professor," she sang, though there was a low, dangerous edge to her voice. Lucius felt colour flush his cheeks. He looked away. "You are just worried we may knock you from your place as Lord Voldemort's favourite. Though if you were put in Azkaban you would not be able to do your duties here. I believe he would be most displeased at that, Lucius."

"Do not use my forename," Lucius snapped agitatedly, "and do not speak of the Dark Lord as if you know him personally. You are a naïve little girl. You know nothing of him, what he is capable of. And you never will. Now please leave."

Miss Black's face fell, returning to the visage of malice. Her lip was upturned in a scowl. She pushed herself so violently from the chair that it fell back across the floor, causing Master Lestrange to shout in surprise and jump back. "I saw everything in that memory," she snarled, slamming the palms of her hands down on the desk and leaning towards him threateningly, "I saw what he is capable of. And you too, murderer."

"Then you know you could not do the things that would be expected of you," he replied reasonably, staring solidly at her.

Her voice was ice. "How do you know?"

"You could not murder."

"Don't tempt me."

"Bella," Master Lestrange murmured, quite meekly. He came forwards and reached for her arm. "C'mon, he's not going to tell yo- us how to become followers. We'll find another way, when we've finished school, yeah?"

Miss Black looked at his arm on hers. For a moment Lucius was so sure she was about to snap his wrist, but she rose slowly away from his desk, still scowling. She brushed Master Lestrange's grip from her arm. "Then when we have left school you will take us to Lord Voldemort, _Professor._"

He sighed, closing his eyes and rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I will have no responsibility over you," he conceded quietly, "so it will be your choice. However, in order to do that I will have to keep my job for now, and remain out of Azkaban." He stared up at her pointedly. "And alive. If you hurt the Dark Lord's most loyal follower he may be less inclined to accept you within his ranks, therefore it would be in your best interests to remain on my good side. Understood?"

Miss Black seemed to struggle with this. Her face contorted into some psychotic mass of hope, rage, self-control and hatred. For a moment Lucius was somewhat nervous. "Fine," she concluded after much deliberation, "then give me my wand back."

Lucius hesitated, searching her face for any threats of killing curses or immense pain, before reluctantly handing her wand back.

She gripped it tightly, instantly pointing it at his face, but soon slightly lowered it. "Come, Rodolphus," she snapped as she stalked from the room, kicking the chair on the way. She wrenched the door open and stormed out.

"Lucius," Master Lestrange whispered as the sounds of Miss Black echoed up the corridor, "I don't want this. I've never wanted this."

Lucius looked up at him ruefully. He actually felt a strangely large amount of sympathy for Master Lestrange. "Perhaps you should not be with Miss Black then."

He laughed hollowly. "If I left her I wouldn't see another sunrise."

One side of Lucius' lips twitched. "I suppose not," he shrugged.

Master Lestrange looked apprehensive, studying Lucius carefully. "Are you really a killer?" he inquired quietly. "I'm mean… Well, y'know, murderer."

Lucius sighed. He nodded once, not looking at Master Lestrange, really needing a drink. "The Bones. Louisa," was all he said.

"Oh," Master Lestrange murmured softly. To Lucius' surprise he merely ran his hand through his tangle of curly dark hair, shrugging. "Well, I'm sure you couldn't help it. Y're still an okay guy to me, Luci."

_Now why can't females be more like that?_ Lucius wondered, tilting his head at Master Lestrange. "Thank you," he murmured quietly, genuinely grateful for the almost kind words, "but don't call me that."

Master Lestrange chortled. "Hey, y'know, now I'm keeping this secret, can I get out of that dragon blood homework?"

"No."

* * *

><p>Narcissa didn't remember having ever felt such terror. She was curled up on her bed, her covers pulled up over her head. She had run straight from the seventh floor corridor to the security of her four-poster, trembling little body wrapped around the pillow which felt so much like Professor Malfoy at night. She was clutching it, crying as quietly as she could into it, sobs wracking her petite shoulders. She didn't want to close her eyes for when she did all she could see was flashes of red, but to keep them open hurt too much.<p>

It was insane. She didn't remember feeling this terrified even in the Forbidden Forest, yet the threat of Professor Malfoy being hurt nearly petrified her. She didn't know what had happened, whether Bellatrix had harmed him. Killed him even. For all she knew he could at that moment be lying prone on some flight of stairs, never to draw another breath. Or he could be standing before the Wizengamot. At that moment a dementor could be bearing down upon him, lowering its hood, leaning in almost sensually-

Narcissa let out a particularly loud sob into her pillow, clutching it tighter. It was her fault, all her fault! She should not have sent that letter requesting his company in the Room of Requirement. She should never have begun chasing him in the first place. If he was locked up, or dead, or worse, she and only she was to blame. That was the only reason she was panicked, of course. Because he was her teacher, and because she would be guilty. That was the only reason.

Narcissa heard the door open somewhere behind her, from beyond the confines of the sheets. She couldn't bring herself to see who it was, but instead bit the pillow to stop herself from sobbing overly loudly again and hurriedly wiped her eyes. If it was scum like Crowley she most certainly didn't want to be caught crying so hysterically in front of them.

However, the voice which tentatively called, "Cissy?" as the person to whom it belonged sat on the end of her bed, placing a hand on Narcissa's trembling form beneath the sheets, was not an unwelcome one.

"Andy," Narcissa whimpered, a little ray of hope intruding upon her darkness. She threw her covers off and embraced Andromeda in one fluid motion, crying silently into her sister's shoulder.

Andromeda, rather awkwardly, put an arm around Narcissa's shoulders, patting gently. "There there," she said, just as awkwardly.

Her attempts at consolation were, as always, so pathetic that Narcissa almost laughed but couldn't coax it between her sobs. She grabbed Andy's blouse instead, holding her close for some form of security, as her sister stroked her back, making soft shushing sounds as opposed to trying to find words to calm Narcissa which, as of yet, she had never managed.

Eventually, Narcissa's sobs began to quieten and her tears had been nearly all spilt out onto Andromeda's blouse, making it see-through and making the constellation-like formation of beauty spots on her shoulder clearly visible through the soaked material. Narcissa drew her fingers over the beauty spots, making shapes with them, as she used to do when she was little girl being carried away from Bella by Andy when the former "was only playing _harmless _games with the new baby".

Andy looked down at her sister with no small amount of fondness, smiling slightly. "That tickles."

Narcissa stopped, taking her hand away and moving away from Andromeda, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. "Sorry," she sniffed, determined to not let anymore tears fall. She looked down at the floor, toes curling in her shoes in the effort to stop herself crying.

"What's the matter, Cissy?" Andromeda asked gently, brushing a neglected tear from Narcissa's cheek. "I don't think I've ever seen you quite this upset."

"Bellatrix." Enough said.

Andromeda 'aaah'ed understandingly, nodding slowly. There was an awkward pause. "And perhaps… Malfoy?"

Narcissa's head snapped around to look at Andromeda so quickly that her neck nearly cricked. "How did you-?" she demanded harshly.

"A simple guess, precious little sister of mine," she declared to Narcissa's accusing glare, raising her hands defensively, "I saw her get up to follow you when you left for wherever you go in the evening. I'd already deduced for myself that you go and see Malfoy. So she found out then?"

Narcissa nodded regretfully, putting her head in her hands in an attempt to stop more tears. She sobbed dryly. "She was trying to kill him. I ran."

Andromeda sighed, scratching the back of her neck uneasily. "Well, c'mon. No use you staying up here, crying and wondering. We'll go and find her or… him." The way in which she uncomfortably said the last word was indicative enough that Andromeda thought either that they would never find him, or if they did it would be in the Hospital Wing in a state that she would never want her little sister to see in any person. "Then you'll know. Okay?"

Narcissa slowly nodded and accepted her sister's hand, allowing herself to be pulled from her bed and towards the dormitory door with a gentle squeeze of her fingers. She looked over her shoulder at the pillow, prone and crumpled, on her bed, and hoped against hope that Professor Malfoy didn't look similarly.

Upon descending the dormitory stairs, they found they didn't have to look far for their eldest sister. The mass of black frizz was visible over the back of the sofa in front of the fire, lit in the miasma of the green flames. Narcissa approached cautiously and, upon noticing that Rodolphus was also absent, her stomach dropped and her eyes filled once again with scared tears.

Bellatrix had her wand in her left hand, once again guiding knitting needles into crafting some woolly macabre abomination which looked scarily like a human figure, while with her right she was writing smoothly on a piece of parchment.

"What did you do to them?" Narcissa tried to demand, but her voice was hoarse and quiet. Meek.

"Oh, hello Cissy," Bellatrix cooed politely, not looking up from the parchment. "How nice to see you."

"What did you do to them?" Narcissa repeated, pleased to find her voice a little more forceful.

Bellatrix slowly looked up at Narcissa with moderate interest. "Why, dear Cissy. What on _earth_ do you think I could do?"

"Answer me!" she cried out, a few tears spilling from over onto her cheeks.  
>"Bella," implored Andromeda quietly and making Narcissa jump, for she had almost forgotten her middle sister was there, "c'mon."<p>

Bellatrix sighed heavily as though in disappointment. "To think my own sisters would think me capable of such dastardly things. Shame on you both," she tittered, "The _Professor _is in his office, with Rodolphus. May I assure you, they are both quite fine, they are."

Narcissa scrutinized her face. "Why?"

Bellatrix laughed a high, derisive cackle. "Because," she sang, returning to her parchment, "I have decided that I need him also."

Narcissa's brow furrowed in confusion. "What? What for?"

"All in good time, dear Cissy," she concluded, and her tone was so final that Narcissa didn't dare pursue the subject. "Could you do me a favour?" she continued, unconscious of the tension in her two sisters, as she signed her name at the bottom of the parchment. "Read this and see if it gets to the point?"

She held the parchment out to Narcissa, and she shakily took it. Andromeda, curious, meandered around to join Narcissa, reading the parchment over her shoulder. Bellatrix returned to knitting, clearly uninterested in the proceedings. It was a letter.

_Dearest mother and father,_

_I shall not put up any false pretence that I am bearing good news, or wondering how you are in contacting you. I am afraid that in writing this letter I am bearing not very good news at all, as a matter of fact. Mother, you may wish to sit down and be prepared to repair a lot of things which father will smash. _

_It appears that our dear Narcissa has breached the boundaries of her tender age, as well as the arrangement of her marriage, and has committed the act of fornication with none other than a teacher at this school. The professor, a certain Lucius Malfoy, has taken advantage of and defiled our little Narcissa repeatedly in both ways of obtaining his own heinous sexual means and in forcing her to witness the things he has done, namely Death Eater duties, will you believe? He pressured her to watch as he killed the entire family of a student attending this school (the Bones', since I suppose you both have not yet heard of it in your aversion to the Daily Prophet). It was he who drove her into the Forbidden Forest, and he who moulded her once again to forgive him and continue allowing him to use her body for his pleasure. I am sure he is using an Unforgivable on Narcissa, for she has removed her engagement ring – _Narcissa looked down at her left hand and, with a pang, realised that the obnoxious engagement ring was indeed missing. She much have left it in the Room of Requirement. Strange how much better her hand felt without it, weightless and light. But how would she explain that one to Crowley? – _ and I am willing to wager that she will not be wearing it again. I have threatened him with the consequences of ever touching Narcissa, and I have tried to make him pay for it, I really have, but he continues unperturbed. I do not think that this should go unpunished, and I know you shall both agree. _

_He, also, has the stupidity to refuse me passage into becoming a follower of Lord Voldemort, as we have discussed to be the best option for all Wizarding families, despite the fact that he has tainted your darling daughter. However, he has agreed to get me an audience with the Lord after I have left school, therefore I want him hurt, but alive. You cannot tell Dumbledore, for he must keep his job._

_Make him too scared to ever touch our sister again, father._

_Hoping you are both well,_

_Bellatrix_

Narcissa stared up at Bellatrix, her eyes wide. Her hands formed fists, crunching up the parchment in her hands. They were shaking. "You wouldn't," she whimpered.

"You can't tell mum and dad!" exclaimed Andromeda, who had also finished reading.

Bellatrix smiled, sickly-sweetly. "Oh, I can. And I shall."

"They'll kill her!"

"And him, with any luck."

"So this is why you need him?" Narcissa whispered, "To become a follower of that… thing?"

"One day everyone will be at the feet of Lord Voldemort, Cissy. It is inevitable. I am just making sure I shall be at his right side."

"But this!" Andromeda cried, "Father will kill Malfoy if he reads this."

"Which would be no great loss," Bellatrix replied sternly as she guided her wand to knit long, yellow strands of yarn into the head of the human-shaped woollen creation, "I will find my way to the ranks of Lord Voldemort in some way, through the _professor _or not."

A tear dripped from Narcissa's eye onto the page, landing on Professor Malfoy's name and causing the ink to run. She looked at the parchment and then at the fire, judging the distance. _This can't happen. It can't. _Within the space of a few split seconds, Narcissa cried out and scrunched up the parchment into a tight ball before throwing it into the fire, where it instantly began to be consumed by the flames. She watched it with some triumph, fully believing that Bellatrix would have stopped it reaching the hearth before it could be ignited, but there it was, all evidence, burning away.

Bellatrix, however, barely gave the parchment any notice. "Oh Cissy," she tutted, "I just _knew _you would do that. Lucky, isn't it, that that was a second copy, and I have sent a letter rather similar to the one you have just read to mother and father already? Lucky indeed."

Narcissa felt her blood run cold, her lips part in shock and her knees become shaky beneath her. "You've done what?" she whispered.

"Oh yes, Noctua should be halfway to mother and father right now. If they are prompt they will be here _talking_ to Professor Malfoy by the morrow." She smiled up at Narcissa widely, baring all of her teeth. "I warned him, Cissy." She plucked the blonde woollen man from the air, holding it tightly in one hand, and grabbed the knitting needles in the other. In one swift, forceful movement, she stabbed the needles through the chest of the woollen form until the points were protruding out of its back. She looked up at Narcissa and tilted her head playfully. "He has it coming."

* * *

><p>"You wanted to see me, Albus?" Lucius inquired as politely as he could, entering the headmaster's office the next day. The last thing he wanted was to be there, but he had been summoned by the headmaster himself, and so could not ignore it despite the pounding headache of a deserved hangover and the tiredness of barely three hours of sleep. He had, ruefully, had to use the Muggle make-up which Miss Black had left on his desk so long before to mask the dark rings beneath his eyes and make himself look more presentable. He made sure to maintain his air of masculinity and sophistication in his gait, however, and in the controlling of the feeling of nausea which accompanied the previous night of heavy drinking just to make sure it was worth it.<p>

"I did indeed," Albus replied kindly, rising as Lucius approached him. "I believe that there are two people here who wish to make your acquaintance." He extended his hand to the two people sitting in front of his desk, whom immediately rose and turned to stare at Lucius with a by no means small amount of vehemence in their eyes. Had his mind not been working so slowly he may have been able to deduce who they were before Albus stated, "May I introduce to you Mr. Cygnus and Mrs. Druella Black."

Lucius stiffened, tribulation creating a very heavy weight in the pit of his stomach. _Oh, Merlin, they know. Albus knows. I'm going to Azkaban. _ His eyes flicked from one Black to the other, to Albus, and then back to the Blacks.

The woman, on the left side in Lucius' perspective, was small and frail-looking, as though a strong wind may snap her. She was wearing a long black dress which exaggerated the non-existence of any curves whatsoever, the neckline plunging down on her very flat chest, and a robe was perched on her shoulders like a shawl. Her hair was long and dark, falling about her shoulders as Miss Black's fell about her own, but was a lot thinner than her youngest daughter's. Her cheeks were high, her nose sharp and her eyes were somewhere between blue and grey, surrounded by lines etched into her pale skin. There was a certain beauty about her though Lucius would guess that the vast majority of her bounty had been ravished from her by the stresses of marriage and childbirth. Her cheeks were pulled in as though she was sucking a lemon though, Lucius reasoned as he glanced past her at the bowl of yellow sweets on Albus' desk, she may very well have been.

The man looked like one of sophistication and aristocracy, in a waistcoat not unlike Lucius' though it was longer, tapering into a pointed tail at the back. He was thin though somewhat short, more than a good few inches shorter than Lucius. His skin was stained with a slight brown, unlike that of his children, forcibly making Lucius liken him to crinkled parchment. His black hair was thinning , combed over in an attempt to mask his balding spots and streaked with grey, and his eyes were dark, heavily-lidded, bespectacled with thin-framed glasses. The shadow of a moustache was lurking beneath his nose like a plant which had sprouted but simply refused to grow. An unlit pipe was clenched firmly within his teeth and he stared Lucius up and down just as the professor did him.

"It is a pleasure," Lucius said stiffly, moving forwards and extending his hand to take Cygnus'.

The man looked scornfully at Lucius' fingers but did not take his hand. "I wish I could say the same," he growled in a tone remarkably like Miss Bellatrix Black's.

Deeming the man a lost cause, Lucius instead turned his hand to Druella. She, perhaps a little too eagerly, fit her fingers to his and allowed her to raise her hand to his lips. "Madam," he murmured, kissing the back of her middle fingers. Lucius may have been mistaken but he was sure he saw a blush linger about her cheeks, her lips twitching into a shy smile.

"Enough," barked Cygnus, physically bristling. With some reluctance Druella wrenched her hand away from Lucius' and he allowed his own to fall to his side.

"May I be so bold to inquire as to what grievances you have towards Lucius, Mr. Black?" Albus spoke softly, seating himself back in his chair. He knitted his fingers together, observing the three all at once over his half-moon spectacles.

Lucius nearly breathed out a sigh of relief. _So he doesn't know yet. They haven't told him. I may be able to get out of this._

"No, you may not," Cygnus snapped at the headmaster, though his eyes remained on Lucius. For an incredulous moment Lucius was afraid that Cygnus had just read his thoughts, until his rather slow-working mind deduced that he was answering Dumbledore. The Phoenix, on a perch above its owner's head, trilled indignantly at the man in the headmaster's defence. "My grievances are between me and this piece of filth."

"Mr. Black, I must ask you do not speak in such a way of my staff or you shall be asked to leave the school," Albus murmured, his voice suddenly stern and eyes lacking their usual twinkle, "Now may we sort this like reasonable men, and beautiful women?" He inclined his head to Druella, who looked somewhat disdainful at being addressed in such a way. Or indeed it may have been the man who was addressing her.

"I am not here to see you, _Dumbledore,_" Cygnus muttered, again in an all too similar way to the oldest Miss Black, ergo in such a way that the headmaster's name sounded more like 'you senile Muggle-loving cretin', "I am here to speak to _Lucius."_

One of the portraits above Albus' head sniggered, and Lucius was not surprised to see Phineas Nigellus Black leaning against his frame, looking well and truly entertained. He looked immensely interested in the events of the office, so Lucius would hazard a guess that he did not know why his descendants were there, which was a good sign.

Albus opened his mouth to reply, but Lucius held up a hand to silence him. "It is quite alright, Albus. If they wish to speak to me alone then so be it. Would you like to accompany me to my office, Sir, Madam?"

Cygnus nodded curtly and threw Albus a hateful look before picking up a walking stick which had been hidden from Lucius' view. It was made of dark, gnarled wood with what Lucius supposed was the Black family crest etched into the top. He leant heavily on it as he passed the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, wrenching the door open and leaving the office.

"Thank you, Albus," Druella whispered almost inaudibly before following her husband, though Lucius could tell it was more habit for her to be so polite than any form of amiability, for when Albus reached to take her outstretched fingers into his own she wrenched her arm away before their skin had barely touched and stalked off in a whirl of black fabric and sweet-smelling hair.

For a moment, Lucius and Albus were left alone in the office, staring at one another. Lucius felt the headmaster's eyes scrutinize his stoic mask of a face and looked like he was about to ask what it was all about, but instead only said, "Good luck."

Thinking that he would need it, Lucius nodded curtly and left.

The walk to Lucius' office was longer than he had ever remembered it. It was like the school had stretched itself just to make the silent walk, stormy with tension and thunderous with hatred, even more torturous. It perfectly matched the weather outside, since what should have been the pleasant weather of spring bouncing into summer was non-existent, making way for a raging storm. Dark clouds billowed in the sky, lightning flashed and rain fell like stones on a sinner, flooding the half-breed oaf of a gamekeeper's vegetable patches. _Bloody Britain_, Lucius pondered, quite happy for something to distract him from the burning of the Black's eyes in the back of his head.

"I do hope your journey wasn't too arduous in this weather," Lucius said as they entered his office, having thankfully avoided any of the many Black children on the way, and looking for a way to break the tension. "I would hate to think that I-"

He was stopped in his vocalisations, however, for, upon turning to look upon the Black parents, the male had lunged at him, gripping the collar of Lucius' shirt and bunching his hands into fists. _The apple doesn't fall far from the tree at all, does it, Bellatrix?_ he found himself thinking as Cygnus bared his teeth in a snarl. He was too short to be completely threatening, until he pulled his wand from within his waistcoat and pointed it directly at Lucius' heart.

Lucius swallowed. "Mr. Black," he began, but he was again stopped.

"Is it true, what Bellatrix told me?" he growled, his face too close to Lucius' for comfort. His breath smelt of warm, stale brandy, a drink which Lucius found not very pleasant at the best of times.

"Perhaps if you would like to enlighten me about what Miss Black has told you I can give you a definite answer," said Lucius reasonably, though his voice was hoarse from the constriction at his neck. He tried to ignore the thudding of his heart beneath the point of Cygnus' wand.

"That you have been defiling my daughter to meet your own disgraceful needs? That you have put the Imperius Curse upon her to do so, and made her remove her engagement ring?"

Lucius considered this, his brow furrowing. "I wouldn't say defiled," he murmured mildly, "nor would I say disgraceful. But-"

Cygnus' eyes widened, his thick eyebrows flying upwards. "Then you admit it?" he roared, "You have been taking advantage of my youngest daughter?"

Lucius opened his mouth to reply, but Druella interrupted, putting her slender fingers over her husband's at Lucius' neck. "Come, darling, let us talk about this," she said, and Lucius was surprised, for her voice did not match her body. Now she was talking properly it was deep and unintentionally seductive, not unlike the youngest Miss Black's except that her voice was at least a few notes higher.

It seemed to have a huge effect of Cygnus, however, for he seemed to physically slump, with no motivation to hurt Lucius anymore. Slowly, gradually, his hand loosened from Lucius' collar and he pulled his wand away from the professor's chest. Not realising that he had been holding his breath, Lucius let out a long, relieved exhalation.

"We flooed here," explained Druella politely, as though nothing at all had happened, "so no, not arduous at all, but your concern is appreciable."

Lucius nodded, straightening his shirt hurriedly so that he could pull his wand from within his cane and conjure another chair for Druella, for she had already drawn Cygnus over to the existing one. The inclined her head in thanks and sat demurely down. Lucius noticed that it was exactly the same way in which the youngest Miss Black sat – hands on her lap, one foot behind the other, looking politely interested – but pushed the thought from his mind.

"May I offer you both a drink?" Lucius inquired as he sat himself opposite them, thinking that Cygnus looked as though he needed one.

"Something strong," he muttered, harshly, as he rubbed his temples.

"White wine, thank you," Druella smiled, though it looked incredibly fake. Lucius took note of her thin lashes fluttering over her eyes but did not think anything of it as he snapped his fingers and told the house-elf, up to the shoulders in latex marigold gloves and smelling of wood polish, to get two – he considered – yes, _double_ firewhiskies and a glass of white wine from his bedroom. Quickly.

"Yes, master!" Dobby declared, before it disapparated, leaving Lucius alone in the once again far too awkward silence.

He sighed and pushed his hair back from his face, the action watched intently by Mrs. Black, and spoke first. "Now, about your youngest daughter. I… Well, that is to say we, yes, have fornicated. To the accusation of the Imperius Curse, no, I have not used it on her, nor would I ever. Much as you must think it of me, I am not as low as that. She willingly removed her engagement ring and must have misplaced it. Furthermore, I would not consider it defilement, nor would I think of it as 'taking advantage', since it was mutual and consensual. I-"

"Are you calling our daughter a whore?" Cygnus demanded sternly, suddenly looking as though he was about to rise from his chair.

Lucius raised a defensive hand. "By all means, no. I consider her a very bright, very beautiful and very sensible young witch. What happened between us never should have, I know that, but, I am afraid to say, I do not regret it. I was as charmed by her as she was by me. It was not planned.

"Having said that, I understand your anger. If it were my daughter I would want my head on a plaque on my manor wall. However, I shall not insult you and your lovely wife by pretending I am sorry for my actions. I suppose all that remains is you deciding my future." He finished quietly, glad at the small 'pop' of Dobby returning with the desired drinks on a tray.

"Master," it called, holding up the tray to proffer Lucius his drink, its little arms shaking at the exertion.

Lucius merely stared coldly. "Ah, guests first, guests first, guests first!" it recited, running around Lucius' desk to hold to tray up to the two other people. "Missus," it squeaked at Druella, who took her wine without looking at the creature, and "Misters," as Cygnus snatched his firewhiskey from the tray.

"You may return home and polish your eyes for your insubordination," Lucius commanded as he took the drink from Dobby. The house-elf's smile immediately vanished and his ears drooped.

"Y-yes Master," it murmured solemnly, bowing its head, "Dobby is sorry, Master."

"Just go."

Another 'pop', and it did. Lucius raised his glass to his lips and took a long gulp of the burning liquid. _Oh, hair of the dog, how I do love thee. _Druella mimicked him, drinking her wine a lot more slowly, while Cygnus looked into the liquid in his glass, deep in contemplation.

"Manor, you say?" he murmured eventually, removing his glasses, folding them and slipping them into the pocket of his waistcoat.

Lucius lowered his glass, half empty already – or half full, if one would prefer. – and studied Mr. Black. "I beg your pardon?"

"Manor. You mentioned that you live in a manor."

"Oh. That's right. My estate, given to me by my father."

"Then you are of a wealthy family, boy?"

Lucius bristled. _Boy? Who does he think he is. _"My name is Lucius, Cygnus. And yes, I am."

"Yet still you have a job here, _Lucius_?"

"I am independent. I do not want to depend on the money my father has given to me. I have only ever accepted that house from him, and that was purely a consequence of it being in Malfoy possession for generations."

Lucius saw Cygnus inspecting his left hand with interest. "You are not married?"

"No."

"You have no children?"

"No."

"Do you mind?" Cygnus pointed to his pipe between his lips. Before Lucius could even reply he was lighting it with the end of his wand, lips pursing and little furls of smoke coming from the side of his mouth as he sucked inwards to ignite the tobacco. He took in a deep, meditative drag. "And is it a lot of money that your father has given to you?" He breathed out a huge plume of sweet-smelling smoke which floated upwards.

"An entire Grintgotts vault full, yes. And I have my own vault which is by no means lacking."

"Then you have no need for a large dowry?"

Lucius' brow furrowed. "I suppose not, no."

He puffed thoughtfully on his pipe. "I see. Are you of pure blood?"

"Of course."

"And your parents?"

A pause. "Excuse me?"

"Their appearances. Are they alive?"

"Mr. Black, I do not see what this has to do with anything at all."

"Are your parents as attractive as yourself?"

They both ignored Druella's noise, halfway between a sigh and a girlish giggle which she hid behind a cough, creating the most undignified sound. She masked it by hurriedly taking a gulp of wine.

Lucius shook his head, getting progressively more confused, but answered with, "My mother is deceased, but I look remarkably like her. My eyes are my father's."

Cygnus nodded. "And you are a Death Eater, are you not?"

Lucius felt everything go incredibly numb. He crossed his legs under the desk to make sure they were still working, his fingers gripping his glass of firewhiskey so hard that his knuckles turned white. "I am," he replied stiffly, and was surprised to find his voice did not waver.

"Then, if we were to go to the guards of Azkaban right now" – _Not again, _Lucius intoned in a growl, followed by numerous expletives which he would never have allowed from his lips. – "you would be imprisoned for quite some time, would you not? For the death of, who was it, dear? The Boons, Bons, Bones? Ah, yes, the Bones family."

Lucius felt his stomach twisting and something very strong grip his heart. He was finding it hard to breathe. "Yes. Yes, I would."

"Then I have a proposition for you, Lucius," Cygnus murmured, almost threateningly, before raising his glass to his lips, tipping it up and drinking it all in one. "And if you refuse," he continued, wiping his bottom lip on the back of his thumb, "you may find yourself at the wrong side of prison bars."

Lucius swallowed, suddenly very apprehensive. He kept his grey gaze firmly on Cygnus, being sure to show no weakness, and followed the lead in emptying his glass. He set it down on the table defiantly, steeling himself. "Please, continue," he murmured, with the dreadful feeling that in doing so he was sealing his fate and resigning himself to something which would make Azkaban look a damn sight more attractive.

* * *

><p>Narcissa's fingers trembled as she parted the envelope addressed to her in her mother's precise handwriting on the very same night of their parent's visit to Hogwarts, which was still unbeknownst to the Black children. Noctua remained at her side on the arm of her usual chair, too tired to fly back to the Owlery after two trips to Grimmauld Place and back to Hogwarts in two days. Andromeda and Bellatrix watched her with intrigue, Andy's breath bated and hand over her mouth in apprehension.<p>

Narcissa took in a deep breath as she unfolded the parchment within the envelope, tears of nervousness already prickling behind her eyes and her fingers trembling. Pulling the parchment close, so no one else could read it, she began to flick her eyes over it.

_Narcissa,_

_First of all, I would like to express my disappointment in you. As my daughter I thought your father and I taught you better than to do such a thing as fornicate with anyone, yet alone do something as dangerous as you have. I suppose, however, it cannot be helped now, for what is done is done. (Personally, I think you have rather good taste, but if you tell Cygnus I said that I shall curse your mouth shut.)_

_After much deliberation, swearing, drinking and many broken antiques (on your father's part, I hasten to add), he and I have, today, visited your Professor Lucius Malfoy. We spoke long into the afternoon. I know what you are suspecting and, yes, your father did want to hurt him, but I did not allow it. Lucky I was there, really, or I am sure we would be planning a funeral instead of a wedding_

Narcissa stopped reading. She stared hard at the word. Wedding.

Wedding.

_Wedding._

It took rather a lot of effort for her to drag her eyes across the rest of the page.

_for yes, we have come to the conclusion that, since he has admitted to taking you, it would be the best option to have him marry you. It may lessen the shame if you only have had sex with one man, even before marriage. Of course, his money, home, blood and the fact he is a Death Eater who does not want to face Azkaban are contributing factors, but it is one of the main reasons that at least then you may be able to wear white on your wedding day._

_You must not tell anyone, Narcissa. That is vital. __You must not tell anyone__. Show this letter to your sisters and then burn it. Our family could not bear the shame of you being so promiscuous, nor could we allow Lucius to be taken to Azkaban at this stage. Robert and Delilah Crowley will be informed of the withdrawal of the marriage arrangement tonight, also, but we shall simply say that we have found you a new suitor. Keep faithfully to that, Narcissa._

_You are to be wed next month, in the Easter holiday. You will be removed from school after it, for you have no need to continue with a husband. It is for the best moreover to avoid questions from your class mates etcetera. You shall simply disappear, and live at Lucius' manor. I shall be making arrangements for you and your sisters to come out of school so we may go shopping for the occasion. I shall simply say that an aunt has died and you need to be home, or something along those lines, to Dumbledore. It will be much simpler._

_To Bellatrix – we have spoken to him about allowing you and Rodolphus to become Death Eaters. As part of the arrangement for him to avoid being fired from Hogwarts, imprisonment or Cygnus tearing him apart, he has agreed to get you both an audience with Lord Voldemort. He may need some encouragement and reminding, but the Unbreakable Vow has been made; his protection for the marriage and your meeting. _

_To Andromeda – be a good girl for once and please remain quiet and agreeable. _

_Your cousins will be informed also, but in a note containing less detail. We do not know how much they know, and would not want them knowing too much, so we shall handle it. As for wedding guests, Narcissa, keep it small. Very small. Tell and invite only people whom you would trust with your life and who you know can keep their mouths firmly closed._

_There is nothing more to say. I shall be seeing you soon, Narcissa._

_With regards,_

_Druella._

Narcissa stared down at the parchment. She felt hollow. Her parents were black-mailing Professor Malfoy into marrying her, for his own life? No. No, surely not.

"What is it?" said Andy's voice from somewhere miles away.

Narcissa held out the letter unseeingly, feeling it slipping from her fingers as her sister took it. "It's… It's…" whispered Narcissa, unable to speak, or even think. Her lips remained parted, breath heavy and laboured.

_Professor Malfoy._

_Lucius Malfoy._

_Mr. Lucius Malfoy._

_Mrs. Narcissa Malfoy._

"What," breathed Andromeda after a minute or so of subdued silence, "in the name of Merlin's tight, wrinkly-"

The portrait swung open with such force it hit the wall of the dungeons, the crash reverberating around the common room. The angry hissing and spitting of the snake was lost under the noise as the portrait swung back with the force and crashed back into its usual place.  
>"Narcissa," Crowley snarled, a sheet of parchment scrunched up in his hand. Hurriedly, Andromeda stowed the letter she was reading down the front of her shirt, hiding it in her bra, while Crowley stormed over to the youngest sister. He waved the parchment in her face. "What is this?" he demanded. His hair was messy, every drop of charm gone from his vehement face, his eyes wide and a drop of sweat trailing down his brow.<p>

Narcissa looked up at him mildly. Were she not feeling so strangely empty she would probably have found him frightful. Instead she said simply, with an offhand shrug, "Parchment?"

"No, you stupid girl," he snarled, leaning closer, "It is a letter from my parents telling me that I am no longer to be married to you. What is this?"

Narcissa looked up at him in confusion. "I'm sure you just answered your own question."

Crowley almost roared in anger, causing most of the common room to look around at him. He leant in to Narcissa's chair, threateningly close. "What have you done?"

"Me? Nothing," Narcissa answered with another shrug, "Merely my parents have found me a better suitor. They have…saved me."

Crowley snorted. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Narcissa hesitated before she smiled. The odd bubbles in her chest returned to their full capacity and the mutant butterflies, which she suddenly decided were sized such to be more appropriately described as the beating wings of thestrals, returned to her stomach. "It means, _Toby_," she whispered as realisation hit her, staring up solidly into his eyes and feeling the happiest and most relieved that she had in a long, long time, "that I will never be yours."

_Mrs. Narcissa Malfoy._

* * *

><p><strong>With thanks to the dear WanderingWordsmith who assisted me with the characterisations of Druella and Cygnus in this chapter. They may have been a lot more derpy without him.<strong>

**Thank you for reading thus far. c:**


	17. Chapter 17

**Your reviews. I love you all, I'm serious.**

**I had **_**so much **_**trouble with this chapter (I know I say that every update, but I really did, here). Without you beautiful people I doubt it would have existed at all.**

**I only hope I have done you all justice.**

**As always, with my humble gratitude, I hope you enjoy.~**

* * *

><p><em>Neither of them knew how they got there…<em>

…But oh, dearest Merlin, she looks so beautiful…

…"_I now declare you…_

* * *

><p>"Well."<p>

"Well," repeated Narcissa as she made herself comfortable in the chair opposite Professor Malfoy. She stared mildly at him.

Two nights and an entire day had passed since the day in which Narcissa's parents sealed the fates of her and her professor together in the promise of matrimony. Both had spent the majority of the previous day in their respective bedrooms, blatantly ignoring the rest of the world and coming to terms with the lumbering beast of commitment which threatened to bind them to one another in just one month. Both had gone through minutes of disbelieving laughter and moments of spiralling depression, through regret of everything that had happened and relief that the other was safe.

For most of the day Narcissa had felt the blameworthy knot of her stomach grow to an excessive size and pull downwards, hard, as though trying to rip itself from her guilty flesh as a form of retribution for her new soon-to-be husband. He was a bachelor, no doubt never _wanted _to be married, yet Narcissa and her traditional, greedy, black-mailing family were quite literally forcing his hand into hers. She had laughed herself to tears at the thought of black-mail, the night before this morning on which Narcissa and Professor Malfoy stared at each other over the divide of his desk, for she found her family name so apt that it was just laughable.

She couldn't expect him to be faithful, she had resigned herself to that already. If Crowley, who _wanted _to marry her, – _or, you know, to just get in between my legs, but that's beside the point. – _was still already planning mistresses, what chance did she have with Professor Malfoy? The thought had made her cry for a good half an hour, and made tears prickle behind her eyes now.

_Only because, of course, no woman wants to be cheated on. It's not as though I feel more for him than he does for me. What a preposterous thought! I feel nothing for him._

Before she could stop convincing herself that this was true long enough to realise it was a complete lie, Professor Malfoy uneasily cleared his throat and spoke. "So," he murmured, his voice quiet. He set down his quill and pushed the parchment on which he was writing away. "We are to be married."

"How observant of you, Professor," Narcissa replied mildly, playing with the ring finger on her left hand where a wedding band should have resided. She did wonder where Crowley's ring had gone, for she did not remember seeing it in the Room of Requirement when she left, though he had been in such a state of rage at discovering his conquest was to belong to another that he had still not noticed its absence. A small mercy.

However, Maurice had noticed, and demanded to know why she was not wearing it. Then demanded to know Narcissa's new suitor. Bellatrix and Andromeda were just as unbearable when Narcissa finally meandered down from her dormitory in a daze in the late-afternoon. They had stared at her so much that she found herself returning to bed without bothering to get any dinner. Either someone had informed Rodolphus or he was just not asking why his girlfriend was giving her sister such a venomous glare, for he merely said, "Hullo," to Narcissa and carried on smoking. If it was the latter, Narcissa couldn't blame him, for no doubt he would have been very much hurt again. As she was presently using her breakfast time to be alone with Professor Malfoy in his office, she shifted uncomfortably in her chair, trying to stop her stomach rumbling; there was a lesson of Defence Against the Dark Arts in the afternoon, but she had to see him.

"Have you been informed of when and where?" Professor Malfoy asked in the same quiet tone, stroking a hand over the short stubble on his cheek. Narcissa noticed he looked dark-eyed, as though he had been drinking.

_Am I really that bad?_

"When, yes. Not where," Narcissa replied, quite down-hearted.

"Your mother thought that, since we need to keep this" – He contemplated for a moment. – "_event _surreptitious, it would be best in my manor. She will be visiting my home in the near future to make sure it is worthy of a… A wedding." He frowned, though whether it was because of her mother, the thought of someone in his home or the wedding itself Narcissa didn't know.

"Well, I do hope it is. I would hate to live in a home not fit for a wedding, for it most certainly would not be fit for me."

Professor Malfoy flashed her an amused smirk, and Narcissa felt a lead weight lift from her shoulders. _He doesn't completely hate me for this._

"Again, I must admire your taste, Miss Black," he said, inclining his head, "though I know you will find your new home quite to your liking."

Narcissa looked at him thoughtfully. "You seem quite willing to accept me as your…" She choked on the word she meant to say, and so instead forced out, "Fiancée."

Professor Malfoy shrugged offhandedly. "I have made the Unbreakable Vow. Our marriage for my life. Nothing can be done about it. Besides." He observed her fondly, like her father would if she had agreed to something without kicking and screaming. "I could think of worse people to be betrothed to."

Narcissa was about to say she couldn't think of no better people to be betrothed to, but decided against it. Professor Malfoy's head needed no more inflating. "So…you don't mind? The marriage arrangement, I mean."

Again, Professor Malfoy shrugged. "It cannot be helped."

Narcissa bit back an exasperated sigh, guilt once again twisting in her stomach. "You know very well that is not what I'm asking."

Professor Malfoy nodded slowly. "Yes. I know."

Dejected, Narcissa stared down at his desk as she stood swiftly. "I suppose I should go. I am sorry you are being forced into something you don't believe in."

"Miss Black, sit," Professor Malfoy cut in quickly as Narcissa made to leave. She sighed agitatedly, but stopped. "What do you mean?" he inquired, brow furrowed, when Narcissa returned to her seat. She was staring down at her lap.

"An affectionless relationship," she mumbled tonelessly, forming little fists and digging her nails into her palm to stop herself getting upset.

There was a moment in which Professor Malfoy appeared to be in deep contemplation. Then slowly, achingly slowly, Professor Malfoy stood. "I will admit, Miss Black, my hand is being forced, yes." He began to move around his desk, staring pointedly at the floor. "However. Never before have I found myself risking quite so much for a woman. Nor has a woman ever before made such an impression upon me that I find my thoughts wandering to her so easily and so completely. Therefore." He stood before her quite awkwardly before beginning to lower himself, eyes flicking towards the door to make sure no one else was looking on.

He reached into the pocket of his clock as he began to crouch – _No, kneel, oh dear Merlin. – _and pulled out a tiny white box. Narcissa felt her face flush a deep red, tears of _something _spilling uncontrollably onto her cheeks as her hand flew up to cover her mouth.

"I would not call it entirely affectionless," he concluded in an almost-whisper, and Narcissa saw his cheeks flush with a seldom-seen colour also, his eyes flicking about her face as though they could not settle on her own. Clearing his throat he slowly opened the box. Narcissa gasped.

It certainly wasn't an obnoxious, overly large family heirloom. Nestled within the white silk was a thin white gold band, dainty and delicate like her fingers, with a by no means small, round diamond pride of place in the middle. The diamond was surrounded on either side by a number of smaller sparkling stones, each polished to a shimmer as beautiful as the last. She was sure that, if she could see the inside of the bottom of the ring through the silk and misty eyes, it would have the symbols of Goblin mastery.

"Will you, Narcissa Elladora Black, do me the great honour of becoming my wife?" he murmured, fixing his eyes finally on hers.

Narcissa felt like she was dreaming. Or she was in a catatonic coma. Either way, if she ever woke she would be most displeased. She never thought her life would have a perfect moment, but, Merlin, this came close to exactly that. She didn't even care that he had mentioned her damned middle name, and didn't think to question how he knew it. So lost was she in the sight of him there, kneeling before her, that she could think of nothing else anymore.

Amazing how Crowley had, at some point, gotten down upon one knee and she barely registered it. But every second of Professor Malfoy proffering the ring to her, every blink as he surveyed her face, every rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, nervously awaiting her response, was being ingrained into her memory.

"Yes," she whispered, when she found she was still merely staring at him. "Yes," she repeated, a little louder, though it was still muffled behind her hand.

Professor Malfoy, however, got the gist. He removed the ring from the box and held out his hand, a request for her own. She drew her shaking hand away from her mouth and fit her fingers to his, allowing him to slip the ring onto the designated finger.

"I would rather have died than be in a marriage I would be unhappy with, Miss Black," he murmured, as he brought her fingers to his lips, kissing the back of her middle digits delicately. He brushed his mouth over her fingers, seemingly intentionally drawing the engagement ring over his top lip. When he lowered her hand she could see that his lips were twitching, his usually unreadable expression suddenly injected with a fondness Narcissa was sure he did not wear very often.

Overcome with emotion, Narcissa said nothing but leant forwards in her chair to Professor Malfoy, cupping his cheeks with her demure, trembling fingers and bringing his lips to hers. She felt one of his hands in her hair as he placed the other on the arm of her seat, using it to lean forwards and thus deepen the kiss. The feeling of his stubble was unpleasant on her hands, so she trailed them up into his hair, gently stroking from root to tip as their lips danced together as they had so often before. It was passionate but tender, a kiss of something more than lovers.

_A kiss of more than people who don't-_

Still flushing a light colour, Professor Malfoy broke the embrace all too soon. "I'm glad you like it," he said quietly, as he made to rise from his kneeling position.

Narcissa let her hands reluctantly fall from his hair, using the time to look at the ring instead, after wiping her eyes. She didn't think she had ever seen something so beautiful. "Your mother must have been very slender," she commented, testing the size of the band against her finger.

"How do you know?" Professor Malfoy inquired as he sat himself back in his office chair, surveying her over entwined fingers as he leant his elbows on the desk. "Oh, that wasn't my mother's," he continued as she raised her left hand incredulously, "I'm afraid my father has about as much taste as Master Crowley when it comes to jewellery. I could not have you wear it. I apparated to London last night to purchase that one for you."

The huge bubbles in Narcissa's chest swelled some more. _So he chose this for me himself? Maybe he does care, a little. _"It is lovely, Professor," she breathed, holding it up to inspect the large stone from all angles, "but I must say unnecessary. You didn't have become formally engaged to me."

Professor Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "Had I not proposed to you you would never have forgiven me, we both know it," he smirked, "and this wedding may have been…arranged, but it does not mean we cannot do it properly, Miss Black."

Narcissa nodded, still entirely captivated by her engagement ring. "Then why didn't you give it to me sooner?"

"How was I to know you wouldn't hate me for _altering _your arrangement with Master Crowley?"

Narcissa smiled softly. "I know whose I would rather be."

Professor Malfoy nodded, unable to hide his smug smirk. He pulled his parchment and quill back towards him. "I think we both do, Miss Black."

* * *

><p>"Alright, Luci?" Master Lestrange yawned, stretching his arms above his head. He wandered up to Lucius' desk, shouldering his rucksack, smiling an obnoxiously wide and toothy grin.<p>

Lucius, straightening papers after the seventh-year lesson, glared up at him in exasperation. "Don't call me that."

"S'pretty quiet without Bella and Sirius, huh? What was it, dead aunt?" he mumbled, ignoring the professor completely and sitting on the edge of Lucius' desk. He craned his neck around to make sure the rest of the students had left the classroom. "Lookin' forward to the wedding, huh?"

Lucius glanced around Master Lestrange, double-checking to see if there were any stragglers left in the classroom. "So you were told about it, hm? As much as I can, I suppose," he conceded, glancing up at Master Lestrange's face.

"Well o'course. I'm invited."

"Oh, thank Merlin."

"Oi," Master Lestrange chided, "I hear it's at your house? April 3rd?"

"_Manor_," Lucius rebuked, tidying his desk distractedly by shoving pieces of parchment in his drawers, "Druella decided, upon a recent visit, that it was acceptable, yes."

"So, what's happening?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"The plan before and after the ceremony."

Lucius shrugged. "Portkeys will be distributed to guests by owl on designated days. Priority guests, such as the bride's maids and family of the bride and groom, and the bride herself, will arrive at my manor on April 2nd. They will assist with the preparations and spend the night. Other guests will arrive on the day. There will be a formal ball afterwards." He smirked slightly. "No dungeon parties, Rodolphus."

Master Lestrange rolled his eyes. "One o'those, huh? Right, fine. What clothes?"

Lucius looked Master Lestrange up and down. "I will provide you with those. I doubt you will have anything appropriate."

It appeared Master Lestrange bit back a retort, and did so quite well, for he said instead, "Got everything ready?"

"Such as?"

"Colour schemes, dress robes, wedding dress, bride's maids, after party." He cleared his throat obnoxiously loudly. "Best man."

Lucius stared up at Master Lestrange. Master Lestrange stared down. His eyebrows waggled.

"Master Les-"

"Ah ah."

"_Rodolphus,_ forgive me for being so brazen, but why on earth would I employ you as my best man?"

"Because, _Luci, _you don't have enough friends to pick one out of. And I have kept all of your secrets and even took one helluva beating from Bella for doing so."

Lucius' lips pursed. He looked down at his desk, setting the palms of his hands down upon the wood. "I…suppose that is true."

"And you don't have one already, d'you?"

A pause. "No."

"Sooo, as, y'know, a form of thanks, maybe you should _employ me,_ as you say."

Lucius stared up at Master Lestrange's eyes, wide with excitement at the prospect. He kept his mouth a hard line, face unreadable. "Fine," he submitted, "but I warn you now, no speech. If I hear the words 'he's a pretentious expletive and gave us too much homework, but he's an alright bloke really' on my wedding day I shall make sure you never father children."

Master Lestrange looked thoughtful. "I'll have to rewrite it now. Kidding, kidding!" he added to Lucius' face. "Though this means I can get off with the bride's maid. Score."

"Make sure it's the right one," Lucius smirked, leaning back to make himself comfortable, for he doubted Master Lestrange was leaving anytime soon, "I'm sure Miss Bellatrix Black wouldn't like you mistaking her for her younger sister."

"Or I could just try both," the boy added. A dreamy expression crossed his face. Lucius raised an eyebrow.

With Master Lestrange adequately distracted, Lucius allowed himself a sigh. He hadn't gotten everything ready, no, and April was descending swiftly upon the castle. It was a hectic time for most of the castle, pupils and staff alike; the threat of encroaching exams, warm summer weather, the anticipation for the summer holidays beginning to start. Lucius just happened to have a much more pressing matter to deal with. Even at that moment Miss Black may have been out with her mother and sisters in some part of London where they wouldn't be recognised, struggling to find bride's maids dresses to force both sisters into. Hell, they may have been buying a wedding dress for Narcissa, trying to find the perfect style and fit and veil and jewellery to go with it.

And then there were the little details of the wedding. The colour scheme had been decided, but Druella had suggested and had been quite pushy for green and silver. Lucius did not approve of this, for it was not at all appropriate for such an event, but he had the worries that she would wander back into the realms of ridiculous in her Slytherin support. She had agreed to sort the guest list, food, drink, everything so Lucius did not have to worry about anything and so could better keep up his façade as teacher who was by no means marrying a student, yet still he was panicking about if everything went wrong. And what if she invited the rest of her family? He had looked on Miss Black's school records and found her mother's maiden name to be Rosier, which just happened to be the name of a fellow Death Eater. That most certainly would not be beneficial for the Dark Lord to hear of.

Yet still, when he thought past the minute details and all the things which could go well and truly wands up, the thought of the wedding did not bother him probably as much as it should have. The concept of having Miss Black as all his was not an unwanted one. To imagine returning home to her, awaiting him at the door, was not unpleasant by any means, and to no longer live alone was likewise. He thought often, long and hard, about her kisses which would finally be allowed, about the way her body would fit his as they lay together in his bed, about how she would stroke his hair to coax him into sleep with her. When the wedding was propositioned by Druella and Cygnus Black of course there was some reluctance and hesitance, even some bitterness towards Miss Black at being black-mailed, but her face, her beautiful face, when he had given her his engagement ring was more than worth it.

Yes, more than worth it. Worth an entire lifetime with her, though?

That he didn't know. But the thought of her being the wife of anyone else was almost too much to bear.

_She'll be mine._

Nodding, he wandered away from thoughts of her, for he knew he would end up yearning all over again – not that he would ever admit that was what it was – and returned his attention to Master Lestrange, who still appeared lost in thought. His eyes were glazed and his mouth was hanging slightly open.

Lucius cleared his throat loudly, pulling Master Lestrange from his blissful reverie with a jolt.

"Oh. Yeah. Alright," Master Lestrange grunted, suddenly remembering where he was.

"Don't let Miss Bellatrix Black catch you thinking of those things. You don't want to end up in the Hospital Wing again," Lucius chastised, tiredly rubbing his eyes with his fingertips.

"Well, while the cat's away," Rodolphus winked, "don't have a spare issue of Play Wizard, d'you?"

Lucius resigned himself to the idea that things were going to go very wrong.

* * *

><p>April 2nd. Narcissa slammed hard into freshly-mown grass, the smell filling her nostrils with the overpowering scent. She was winded and choked as she sucked in a long, hard breath, eyes closing as the pain hit. She heard her sisters groaning and grumbling around her and assumed they landed in a similar way, but kept her lids clenched shut to wait for the pain to subside. Despite the fact her mother was pulling hard on her arm, telling her to get up quickly, Narcissa waited a good few minutes before she opened her eyes and allowed her mother to haul her to her feet. When she stood and took in the building in front of her she half-wished she was back on the floor.<p>

She, her sisters and her mother had landed within the grounds of Malfoy Manor, within the huge, tortuous wrought iron gates and the high hedges obscuring the house from the outside world. A white peacock stared at Narcissa as it strutted past, feathers erect, as though indignant that she should land in such an undignified way within the confines of the ostentatious manor. The hedges were pruned and well looked after, the grass short and even, but Narcissa was more interested in the house.

The Malfoy Manor was ridiculously huge. It was the first time that Narcissa had set eyes on it and, judging by the way she had to crane her neck to look up at the roof of the house, contrasting against the minty morning sky, she would guess it as high as the astronomy tower at Hogwarts. It was lined with tall fir trees standing in uniform formation on either side, and was looming, dark and foreboding despite the white bricks from which it was erected. Narcissa noticed that most of the many windows were black, as though covered with drapes.

For an incredulous moment Narcissa longed to grip Druella's hand, but her mother was brushing blades of grass off her, scolding her for not landing on her feet, and was soon briskly making her to the colossal oak front doors of the manor, struggling to carry a huge case.

Still clutching the candelabra portkey, Narcissa followed close behind her mother as she rapped on the door with the heavy, wrought iron knocker, carved into the shape of a serpent winding around the circular form. The door was almost instantly answered, the heavy blocks of wood creaking as they opened with a, "Ah, Mistress Druella! And you must be Mistress Narcissa! A-and Mistresses…Bellatwix and Androdema? How lovely it is to see yous all, Misses!" from the house-elf, who bowed so lowly that his nose almost touched the floor.

Druella swept in through the doors, shrugging the robe off her shoulders onto the creature, who was lost under the black fabric. Bellatrix and Andromeda, quite disgruntled at the little elf not getting their names right, did the same, and Narcissa saw Bellatrix kick the writhing figure within the mass of cloaks, hard.

Narcissa stepped in through the threshold and shut the door slowly behind her. The entrance hall was just as she had expected. The floor was made of white-grey marble, shined to perfection and reflecting the flames of the colossal chandelier which loomed above her head. It was dark and unhomely, unlived in despite the lack of a single speck of dust and the strong smell of wood polish. Doors were closed all around her, all uniform in shape, size and style; double-doors of dark mahogany, leading into dark rooms which had no doubt been untouched for some years. A marble staircase stood proudly directly in front of her, splitting into two smaller staircases which led in opposite directions, presumably to the west and east wings. A huge wall stretched up in between the marble staircases, empty though a slight change in the colour of the wall indicated that a huge painting once resided there.

"Think he's compensating for something?" Andromeda grumbled tonelessly, looking about the expansive welcome hall.

Narcissa thought to answer, but decided very much against it, for the reasons that she would never want to discuss the endowment of her fiancée with her sisters and because she was too busy looking about, herself.

Narcissa didn't like it. Not one bit. It was cavernous and empty, the only thing breaking the symmetry being the long, decorative and artistic coat-stand on the left side of the oak front doors which bowed courteously to take the three older women's cloaks from Dobby. _What I wouldn't give for a troll's leg_, she thought absently as she removed her own outer robes, trying to hang them up on the coat-stand so that the grass stains were not visible and being quite glad she wore them over her demure white dress.

"How lovely to meet you, Miss," Dobby squeaked up at Narcissa fondly from at her feet, looking up with wide eyes and bony hands clasped together, "I's Dobby, Miss. If you need anyfin', Miss, anyfin' at a-"

"Where is your master?" demanded Druella to Dobby, fixing him a dark stare.

The house-elf instantly turned to face Narcissa's mother. It shuffled up to her, wringing its tiny hands. "M-master is-" began the elf, but he was cut off by the clearing of a throat.

"The master is here," came the low rumble of Professor Malfoy's voice. He came from left staircase, moving down onto the marble stairs leading upwards to them. One hand was on the banister, the other on the end of his cane which tapped quietly with every other step, his back straight and demeanour of pure elegance. His hair was tied back precisely, his cheeks clean-shaven and he was wearing clothes of his usual wardrobe, a shirt with airy sleeves tucked into black trousers, over which was a silken black waistcoat.

"Lucius," trilled Druella, in a low, husky note which Narcissa was quite willing to bet she used while courting Cygnus. She dropped the excessively heavy case on top of Dobby, who yelped and crumpled under the weight but went unnoticed.

"No Cygnus?" Professor Malfoy inquired conversationally, moving down the remainder of the stairs to join the women in the entrance hall.

"No, he has decided to use the portkey with Walburga and her side of the family," Druella replied in a much more unenthusiastic tone. She proffered her hand to Professor Malfoy who took her fingers in his and kissed them.

"Well, it is a pleasure to welcome you here again," Professor Malfoy said politely to the woman, though his eyes flicked compulsively to Narcissa who stood straight, legs together and hands clasped primly in front of her. She tried not to allow her distaste of the manor to show. "And it is a pleasure to welcome you here for the first time," he murmured after approaching her, completely ignoring the other two sisters who looked quite content that he had done so. Likewise, he lifted her hand delicately to his lips and kissed the back of her fingers, only for her he bowed to do so. His arm holding his cane curved across his back in a gentlemanlike fashion as he bent to brush his lips over her fingers, and it remained there as he straightened.

"And by no means the last," Narcissa agreed, watching him with mild interest.

Professor Malfoy's lips twitched. "Dobby."

"Y-yes, Master?" squealed the house-elf as it lifted the heavy case off of its spindly body, arms shaking at the weight.

"Take Mrs. Druella, Miss Bellatix and Miss Andromeda Black to the bridal suite. Take the case up with you."

The house-elf nodded meekly and snapped its little fingers, the case levitating at the little creature's eye-level. "This way, Missus!" it squeaked at Druella, who stared reproachfully at Professor Malfoy and with some degree of jealousy at her youngest daughter, before reluctantly following the house-elf up the right staircase. Bellatrix and Andromeda followed suit, flashing Professor Malfoy an identical look of scorn which resembled their father's perfectly.

"Bridal suite?" Narcissa asked with some amount of being impressed.

"It is merely a bedroom altered for the occasion, but you will find everything you need for…tomorrow in there."

Narcissa nodded slowly.

"Is everything ready?"

"You should hope so."

"Indeed I do. We shall see tomorrow, I suppose. I trust your mother. But I digress; you will need to become accustomed to your new home. Shall we?" He removed his arm from behind his back and held it out across his chest. Narcissa nodded and placed her hand demurely upon his forearm.

Narcissa allowed herself to be led this way and that, through room after room. The manor seemed absolutely endless. Basements, wine cellars, attics, kitchens, recreation rooms, dining rooms, bedrooms, ballrooms, courtyards, rooms full of paintings, libraries, bathrooms, rooms with swimming pools, conservatories, drawing rooms, studies, offices. Up stairs and down stairs, this way and that. Every floor of the manor had as many rooms as the last, each wing looking exactly the same. The entire house was just a huge mass of Persian carpets and rugs, leather suites, polished banisters and shined marble, burning fires, dark mahogany, intricately carved mantelpieces and precisely painted portraits which followed her with narrow eyes, often slinking into a neighbour's frame to get a better look at the Malfoy-to-be. One wolf-whistled and Professor Malfoy shot the occupant a warning glare. Each room was as luxurious as the last though most had their thick drapes drawn over the expansive windows to block out natural light, and they had to be spelled open to reveal the perfect contents. It was all so _clean_, all so organized and lovely. Narcissa hated it more and more with every room she tried to memorise.

Dragged down corridor after empty corridor lined of stone floor and walls, Narcissa felt tears prickle up behind her eyes. It was horrible, not anything like home, and getting creepier by the second. The sounds of the footsteps echoed, each breath sounded like a drum beating, and she found herself moving closer to Professor Malfoy purely to keep warm. She wanted to leave, to go home, and-

"Alright, Cissa!" declared a very familiar voice from behind them in a dull roar. It reverberated around the cavernous corridor, making it sound like a hundred people at once. Narcissa certainly wasn't expected it and jumped with a cry, holding a hand to her chest.

"Ah, yes, I should have probably warned you about them," Professor Malfoy admitted through gritted teeth, as they both turned to see the cause of the commotion. "I thought I told you not to shout in my home, Master Lestrange."

Narcissa waved weakly to Rodolphus and his older brother, whom Narcissa recognised from leaving in her third year, since they were both animatedly doing so, regardless of the master of the manor's anger. Then, "What on earth are they doing in here?" she growled accusingly up at Lucius, "I thought lesser priority guests would be arriving tomorrow."

There was an awkward pause. "I'll tell you on the way to the bridal suite. Come."

Rodolphus snorted. "Sweet come," he sniggered.

* * *

><p>Preparations had been made, and finalised. Flowers had been delivered to the Manor door by a large number of elves. More house-elves had been employed to work in the Malfoy kitchens, ready to produce course upon course of food fit for two aristocratic families the next day. A baggy-eyed wizard had visited to drop off crate upon crate of alcohol ("Cygnus' idea, not mine," Druella had sighed). Dobby had washed and darned clothes to his heart's content, setting them on the wearer's respective beds around the manor for the next morning.<p>

All was ready.

* * *

><p>Bird song filtered in through the partially open window, and a gentle summer breeze made the light white curtains flutter. Sunlight streamed in, the type which beams into windows at ungodly hours on particularly bright mornings. It lit up the room, the white four-poster and the white carpet, the white walls and white vanity table, littered with make-up and Sleekeazy's Hair Potion which had until recently been in Druella's case.<p>

Standing before of one of the room's windows was a full-sized wraparound mirror, in front of which Narcissa was standing on a small pedestal. Her mother was bustling about her, wand in between her teeth and already dressed in a silk, golden dress which touched the floor. It had a high neckline while the back plunged down, exposing her white spine. Upon her head was a golden bonnet, a small white fishnet veil coming down to cover her eyes.

"I don't want to live here, mother," Narcissa admitted, breaking the silence, covering her bare breasts with her arm.

Druella stared at her daughter's eyes in the mirror they were both facing, fixing the façade of humanity with a hard stare as she wrapped a satin corset around Narcissa's chest. "Why not?"

"It's not home. It's too big and dingy and it's not even been lived in."

"You'll be fine. Just give it a woman's touch," Druella clucked, before adding, "Breathe in," as she began to tighten the lace of Narcissa's white girdle.

Feeling the bones dig into her chest but knowing better than to complain, Narcissa took a deep breath and held it in as Druella pulled and tightened the lace of the corset, tapering in her waist. She was dressed only in white stockings with lace decoration around the top, held by suspenders to her white underwear, lined with soft frills. Her mother's idea; she blushed to even look at them, but she was told that they would "please Lucius, and that is all that matters now".

She was to be married in little more than an hour. She had barely slept, a mixture of excitement and tribulation, hope and resignation. She had not seen her sisters, nor was she allowed out of the room to check that everything was in order for the supposed happiest day of her life. She tried to tell herself the whole thing was a sham as much as she tried to deny it was. Easier to keep her mouth shut and allow her mother to do her work in dressing her like a doll. Her hair was charmed into soft curls, perfect after her mother's many years of practise, which were tied up into a soft bun in preparation for her veil. The gentle twists of gold accentuated her face perfectly, the pale complexion made even more beautiful by make-up to widen her eyes, a dusky tone upon her eyebrows to bring out the colour of her retinas, lips a shade closer to red than she had ever dared try before, cheeks a gentle pink as is customary to be upon a young, blushing bride.

Artificial.

Oh, to be a vision in white. To be wrapped up like a gift for a man. Oh yes, what beauty.

"What do I do, mother?" Narcissa whispered as she choked in a breath, Druella tying the lace of her corset into a tight knot. "Be a housewife? Locked up alone while my husband's working? Have children?"

Druella scowled at Narcissa's cynicism. "Narcissa, I have taught you all your life that this is what you must do. I have made no pretence that you will never be the possession of a man. Be grateful that you are marrying such a good one."

Narcissa bit back a derisive laugh. She looked instead over to the bed, on which her wedding gown was laid out, prepared for her to slip her lithe body into. _Good only for his money and our grandchildren to you, mother._ Oh no, her mother had made no pretence. All hope had been lost with Andy and Bella very early on, the two young females most unlikely to ever have respectable marriages and beautiful children. Thus the responsibilities lay upon Narcissa.

She stared at her figure in the mirror from all angles. She felt so delicate, and knew that she looked it. She knew it was inevitable, they were to be married. But she was scared, so very scared, of what he would expect of her, and what he would do if she could not please him to his expectations. She could not do things another wife may have been able to, like pretend to enjoy quidditch or cook or clean. What would he do when he realised this? Drop her, throw her away, simply one more piece of porcelain to add to the list of girls he had stripped the innocence from?

Yet, when she had looked in his eyes, as she bid him goodnight barely ten hours ago, she was so sure she had seen something more. As he kissed her hand, bidding her sleep well, and his eyes had fixed on hers, she was so sure that they had been molten. Melted from their usual steel with affection, or something else, perhaps?

Or maybe she would have just liked to see that.

Oh, how she wished to clasp her hands together and pray to some deity, _someone, _that Lucius would never hurt her.

"You are a beautiful bride," Druella whispered into Narcissa's ear, and kissed her cheek.

* * *

><p>"Oi, Luci, everyone's outside. Everything's almost done. You can come out soon."<p>

Lucius took in a deep breath, holding it in as nerves stabbed him deep in the gut. Second thoughts injected his mind and ran riot in it, words to express them poised on his lips to pounce and sting. "Thank you, Rodolphus," Lucius replied, looking over his shoulder to the young man. Lucius' eyebrow raised just as high as Master Lestrange's.

"You scrub up well," Lucius commented as he looked Master Lestrange up and down, his messy spirals of hair tamed somewhat into more gentle curls, dressed in long golden dress robes with a white rose in the pocket.

"Could say the same for you," he replied, smirking at Lucius, "but you couldn't just go for the _usual _dress robes, could you?"

Lucius gripped the lapels of his long, white satin robes, tapering at the back to coattails, and straightened them. His shirt was white, with mother of pearl buttons and forming a high collar, around which was a golden silk cravat. His trousers and shoes were the same flawless shade of blankness as the rest of his clothes. His hair was swept back gracefully into a thick white ribbon, accentuating the platinum. "I've no idea what you mean, Rodolphus," he replied airily, fixing the cuffs upon his robes and inspecting the cufflinks, the shape of miniature snakes.

"So how much did it cost to get those specially made, again?"

Lucius smirked slightly. "More than you could comprehend, my friend."

"Ah ah, careful what you're saying. I could still very well do a speech."

Lucius waved his hand flippantly, indication for Master Lestrange to leave. Rolling his eyes, he did, leaving Lucius one again alone to his thoughts. He soon regretted requesting Master Lestrange go.

He couldn't do it. He couldn't go through with it. She was just a child! He was marrying a child. He was despicable, heinous, and he deserved Azkaban. He deserved worse. Though, he reminded himself, if he left and didn't go through with the wedding he could get exactly that.

He leant forwards, placing his hand onto the top of the mirror to steady himself at he stared hard at his own reflection. He was my no means unattractive, no, but she deserved better than him. Of course she did. She did not belong in his manor, alone, while he was back at Hogwarts. She wouldn't trust him, of course she wouldn't. He could barely trust himself. But he could not leave Hogwarts, else he would be punished by the Dark Lord, and he doubted if he let him down in such a way he would get off with just a slap on the wrist.

He covered one side of his face with his hand. _What have I done?_

They would all be out there now, guests and family, erecting the necessary components for the wedding. He had not been allowed to see yet, and so was quite worried at what on earth the Blacks had done. He didn't quite know what to make of the entire family. Dinner the previous night, when all of them had finally arrived, had been an extremely awkward affair; Lucius had sat at the head of the table while Cygnus had seated himself at the other end. They stared at each other more than they ate. And Lucius had just as much trouble attempting to learn the names of the various Blacks as Miss Black did in memorising the rooms of his house, since most of them looked the bloody same. Of course, he had the advantage since the majority of the teens in his house were or had been his students. Regulus had taken to avoiding Lucius' eye completely, and he couldn't blame the boy.

He laughed hollowly. He had spent his last night as a free man in his study, after wishing Narcissa a good night and watching her retire to her bridal suite for the night, with his soon-to-be-father-in-law, drinking firewhiskey (Cygnus had helped himself to brandy which had arrived within the wedding drinks on the manor doorstep), and smoking cigars and a pipe respectively.

"Hurt my daughter and I'll kill you," Cygnus had said. It had been one of the only things that was said, in fact, for the rest of the time had been spent on them scrutinizing each other, breathing toxic fumes in and out and drinking.

Another hollow laugh. _I'm going to die, one way or another. _

But the thought of hurting her created a strange sensation in his stomach which he was still yet to name. Luckily he did not have to endure getting a headache in the effort of trying to put a name to it, for he found himself soon adequately distracted.

"So," came a voice from behind Lucius. It was low and would have been gruff f there wasn't such an aristocratic chord to it, notes of sophistication which Lucius instantly recognised as the last thing he needed to hear. "Finally. The day I thought I would never see."

Lucius stared resignedly into his reflection, his eyes of ice. His hand gripped the top of the mirror so tightly that his knuckles soon turned white. "I thought you would never see it either." He was surprised how devoid of anger his voice was.

"So I gathered. I do not recall getting my invite."

Lucius closed his eyes in exasperation. "There may be good reason for that, father."

The man behind Lucius chuckled lowly. "I am surprised you still recognise me after all these years."

Sighing, Lucius turned, bestowing his cold stare upon the man in the doorway.

His eyes met a pair identical to those he had just gazed at so intently in the mirror, though they were a few inches lower. He was a portly man, his face somewhat squashed-looking as though he had been struck by too many bludgers. A thick beard and moustache covered his jowly chin, his pale skin punctured with lines. Within one droopy eyelid was clenched a monocle, attached with a thin chain to his golden waistcoat. The hair on his head was the same shade in between grey and white as his beard, the colour of trudged-in snow, thinning and combed over. The years had not been kind to him.

"How could I forget you?" Lucius muttered with no amiability, folding his arms across his chest, "What are you doing here?"

"I am present to see my only son throwing away his life, Lucius. Or is that a crime now?"

"How did you get into my home?"

Again, Abraxas chuckled humourlessly. "You truly think that the sole heir of all Malfoy possessions cannot get into what is technically his own manor?"

A flicker of distaste crossed Lucius' face. "How did you find out?"

One side of Abraxas' mouth twitched into a smug smirk. "We do have the same family, much as you hate to admit it, Lucius. Some of them enjoy roaming from your estate to my own."

Lucius scowled. "Who?"

"Your great-aunt."

Making a mental note to shut her portrait in the basement for a very long time, Lucius merely sighed. "I see."

There was an awkward silence. "I hear your current occupation if within Hogwarts school?"

"You heard correctly."

"How is Horace?"

"Quite fine."

Abraxas nodded, and an awkward silence again descended, the two generations simply staring at each other with unreadable expressions. Lucius kept his arms locked defiantly across his chest.

"So." Abraxas took a small cloth from inside his waistcoat, removed his monocle and polished it meditatively, deliberately slowly. "Who is your bride?" he asked, replacing it within his flabby eye.

Lucius' lips pursed into a thin line as his brow furrowed. "Narcissa Black."

"How old is she?"

Lucius bristled. "That is of no consequence."

Abraxas chuckled again. "Of course it is, Lucius. After all, you still hate me so much for your mother's unfortunate and early de-"

"Don't speak of her," Lucius snapped, "You don't deserve to."

"Oh, do stop playing the martyr, Lucius," Abraxas retorted, his brow furrowing in much the same was as Lucius', "I am willing to wager that this conquest of yours is young and still with her womanly charms too. She will not live up to your expectations and history will repeat itself. You are no better than those before you."

Lucius recoiled as though stung. "No," he muttered, "this is different."

"Why? Are you still on that high and mighty horse of not wanting an affectionless marriage? Ha. You will be back to drowning your sorrows at gentleman's clubs before the week is out."

Lucius scowled, eyes dark and face set. "I am not like you, father. Yes, she is young, but she is wise beyond her years. _No,_" he snapped, raising a hand to silence his father as Abraxas opened his mouth to speak. "Enough from you. I am talking now. I need no mistresses, now any other women. I need no expectations for her for she has already excelled them. I, unlike those before me, will be faithful. I will be a better husband, a better _father_, than you ever were. Though that won't be too difficult."

He approached his father, arms unfolding, towering over him easily. Abraxas kept his eyes defensively upon Lucius', though his gaze was wavering.

"You, father, are going to die cold and alone in that coffin of a house. Perhaps if you have a change of that conceited heart of yours I shall learn to accept your presence over my threshold. For the sake of my future children, only. Until then you will remain nothing but a ghoul to me. Now, if you will excuse me." He pushed past his father forcefully, leaving Abraxas alone in the empty room which resembled his own as he was preparing to marry a beautiful woman so many years ago. "I have a wedding to attend."

Full of ire, fists forming at his sides, Lucius swept down the corridors and stairs of his manor swiftly, glancing up momentarily at the blank expanse of wall above the marble stairs of the entrance hall, where his father's colossal portrait once reigned. One side of his mouth turned downwards in a dark scowl. _Well. Something had to go wrong today._

The doors of his manor were wide open, inviting in the scents and light of a warm summer day into his home. It was bright and airy, mad shouting forcing its way, unwelcomed, across the threshold from outside as the Blacks squabbled. How strange their obnoxious voices sounded, cutting through the suffocating emptiness that he was so accustomed to. It was strangely pleasant.

Emerging outside Lucius found that it was a beautiful day, a gentle breeze rustling the trees and carrying with it the smells of summer, the sun beaming down upon the congregation of people in gold and white – Lucius had very much won on the subject of the colour scheme, and was glad that Druella had stuck to it.

The grounds were alive, somehow, with flocks of people. An immense number had managed to arrive, though he didn't see how since it was meant to be a quiet affair. He glanced around, looking for the sight of a Rosier, but thankfully found no indication of any of the family; he supposed Druella had considered her daughter's betrayal of the Blacks too shameful to invite her maiden family. This, along with the fact that all the guests seemed to resemble each other in some way, led Lucius to believe that most were Blacks. However, a few others he recognised from different families such as, to his surprise, Master Severus Snape who was already sitting down in the fifth row of chairs, nose stuck in a book.

His eyes wandered over Miss Andromeda Black, nonchalantly conversing with Master Sirius as though she needn't have been elsewhere, while everyone else was doing one thing or another for the final preparations: flicking wands to make golden ribbons form huge bows on the backs of chairs; moodily unrolling a length of gold material by kicking it between chairs to form a makeshift aisle ("Sirius, start doing that properly or your mother will stick her wand where you will never want a wand to be stuck," warned Alphard in a hushed whisper, looking about for his sister);erecting a white, intricately carved alter at the end of the golden material, adorned with white rose buds. Up at the alter stood a hunched man in black robes, and, though Lucius was too far away to see him, he knew that that would be the man to seal his fate.

Second thoughts pricked his mind like the sting of a wasp.

"Lucius!" declared Master Lestrange's voice from somewhere in the hubbub. The blond looked over towards the source of the shout to see the brunet jumping clean over three rows of seats to do so.

Hiding all indication that he was just a little bit impressed, Lucius plainly said, "Is it all in order yet?"

"Getting there," Master Lestrange nodded breathlessly, "I think Alphard is bringing out your piano n- Ah, yeah, he's there."

Stomach falling, Lucius glanced over his shoulder to see his grand piano being levitated out of the front doors. He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger irritably. "And that is in aid of?"

"Well you can't have a marriage without music, Merlin forbid it," Master Lestrange winked. Lucius watched apprehensively until his precious piano was set down safe and sound on the left side of the altar. Alphard sat at it, in preparation.  
>"Right, everything's well and good," Master Lestrange nodded, giving his approval. "Now we just have to wait for the bride to-"<p>

"Seats, seats!" squawked Walburga suddenly. She burst from the open front doors, waving her arms around hysterically as she ran down the aisle. Her overly tight, faded and moth-eaten dress clung to her, the bustle bouncing, as she made her way straight to the front row. "Everyone get in yer seats! Orion, move yer arse!" Walburga snapped to her rather unfortunate husband, pushing him one seat over with her bustled rump so that she could sit beside the aisle.

"C'mon, Luci!" Master Lestrange urged, beckoning Lucius forwards to the end of the aisle as the congregation fled to their respective chairs and positions, or somewhere around there, straightening their ties and dresses and hair. He watched Miss Andromeda curse an expletive and run back into the manor, lifting the skirts of her golden dress, the white ribbon holding in her waist flying behind her.

The air was alive with overly loud whispers, the rustling of clothing as witches and wizards looked over their shoulders impatiently, sometimes punctuated with shrill, excited laughter. Quite a few looked up at Lucius expectantly, some casting him dark glares as though warning what would happen to him if he tried any funny business.

Swallowing, Lucius took used his last minutes of freedom in attempting to regulate his breathing. Master Lestrange who was standing behind him, clapped him on the back. "You'll be fine," he whispered, squeezing Lucius' shoulder. He nodded numbly.

It was a barely a minute before anyone at all came from the house, and when someone did it was most certainly not the bride, but the figure only acted as a catalyst to add to the hushed whispers. Lucius looked skywards in exasperation as his father strode purposefully his way, wondering what he could possibly have to say and bracing himself for it.

Abraxas stood before his son, chest puffed out as though in an attempt to compensate for his lack of height, keeping about him the aura of his conceited pride. Then, he expelled the air slowly, seeming to deflate. He looked very old and weak.

"Look, son, I'm…" His eyes flicked to the congregation of people, who were all leaning over their chairs shamelessly to watch him. He lowered his voice. "I know we have our differences, and I know you may never fully forgive me for what happened to Capella but…" He took in a deep breath, as though he was about to plummet into a deep abyss. "I apologise. May we…?" He felt out his portly fingers. Lucius noticed that he was still wearing his wedding band.

There was a long moment of nothingness. Then, reluctantly, Lucius took his father's stout fingers in his own, of their slender dexterity. "One mistake, and you're dead to me," he hissed, leaning forwards so no one else could hear, "and this in no way means you're forgiven."

Abraxas nodded solemnly as Lucius straightened, but clapped his free hand on Lucius' upper arm. The firm grip and the look within those grey eyes showed Lucius all the gratitude that he would ever receive from his father, before their bond broke and the older man shuffled down the aisle to sit down in a vacant chair.

Interesting moment gone, the congregation descended back into bored chatter. Lucius began to grow restless, compulsively straightening his cravat. _The gates are only over there. I could run_. _Oh, Merlin, help._

"Who the hell invited Snivellus?" Master Sirius muttered overly loudly.

"Narcissa thought he could do with a good wedding," Master Regulus shrugged nonchalantly, "He certainly looks like he could."

Master Sirius snorted. "Looks like he could do with a good-"

As a figure came out of the manor, Alphard hit a deep, resounding note upon the piano, beginning a slow but elaborate rendition of a Mendelsohn's Wedding March. Druella moved briskly towards the congregation of seats, gliding easily across the grass, and paused at the end of the aisle. She held out her hand to Lucius, who took it and kissed her fingers automatically, out of habit. She raised her free hand to his cheek, cupping his face almost affectionately. The small smile which graced her lips, the tears which lined her lower eyelid, told him all he needed to hear. _Look after my daughter. _She removed her hands from him as swiftly as she had given them to him, and moved to her seat in the front row.

Lucius swallowed, hard, feeling Master Lestrange push the small of his back in encouragement.

Stiffly, Lucius began to walk like a man to gallows down the aisle, his footsteps matching the doleful tones of the piano. It was easily the longest walk of his life, and he could feel every single eye on him. He stepped up onto the raised platform beneath the alter, nodding at the man in the black robes who would soon be issuing the marriage vows. He was aging, with a hunched back and spindly fingers. His head was nearly bald, though long white hair fell from his scalp at the sides and back, like a dripping crescent moon. His face was long and equine, and though he looked as though he was trying to smile it came out like a sort of sneer.

Lucius held back a sigh and glanced at Master Lestrange, behind Lucius and lower down, as he wasn't on the pedestal. He flashed Lucius a toothy smile. Somewhat reassured, Lucius looked towards the front doors of the manor expectantly, clasping his hands behind his back to stop himself fiddling restlessly with his cravat anymore. Thankfully, he didn't have to wait long.

Every second thought, every niggling doubt and every death wish was gone instantly. The congregation stood as the figure emerged from the doors, threatening to block Miss Black from his view, but luckily the raised platform meant that Lucius didn't have to remove his eyes from her.

A collective sigh rose as the girl – _woman – _approached, looking the very epitome of beauty itself. Her dress was long and elegant, accentuating the trimness of her waist and the gentle sweeps of her curves. It was strapless, exposing her regal shoulders and the line of her collar bone, drawing notice to her slender neck. At the bust were patterns of intricately embellished lace, and flowers of satin bloomed at one side of the dress, pulling the material in and emphasising her slim waist. The chiffon material of the skirt pooled around her ankles as she moved effortlessly across the grass towards him. She was wearing a white veil but as she came closer, began to move down the aisle, Lucius could see the diamond necklace around her throat, the drop earrings to match. A line of white flowers made of pearl blossomed across her hair, keeping her veil held into her bun, and perfectly complimented her jewellery. She was holding a bouquet of white roses and baby's breath tied together with a similar ribbon to that in Lucius' hair in one hand, her other arm within her father's.

The two stopped before Miss Black could reach the raised platform on which Lucius stood, and they both looked up at him. For a moment Lucius was sure that Cygnus was not going to let his daughter go, his hand closing over her slender fingers on his arm momentarily. He stared up at Lucius, scrutinizing him. Lucius stared back. Slowly, he unclasped his hands from behind his back and proffered one towards Miss Black.

She looked at her father, and Lucius saw him squeeze her hand. Then he moved his arm from her grasp, stepping away and leaving his daughter to place her fingers within those of the man awaiting her.

Lucius guided her to step onto the pedestal, and was only vaguely aware of the soft sighs and sobbing from the onlookers, the presence of the two Black sisters in their matching dresses behind Narcissa beneath the podium, the decline of a handkerchief from Druella by her husband as he wiped his eyes impatiently on the back of his hand.

They stared at each other through her veil, completely unaware of anyone or anything. Neither of them knew how they got there, but neither were sure that they were sorry they had. Lucius wanted to much to stroke her cheek, but knew he could not. Their fingers entwined, neither willing to let go.

"Please, be seated," the aging man croaked in a raspy voice as Alphard struck a final chord on the piano, turning to watch the proceedings with a smile. There was the rustling of clothes as the congregation sat. "Ladies and gentlemen. We are gathered here today to celebrate the union of two faithful souls…"

Lucius held his breath as the man spoke, unwilling to even blink. A whole host of emotions played deep within his gut. He was worried. Scared, even, of what the future would hold for them both. He was concerned about marrying into such a family as the Blacks, and he was worried about proving to his father that he was not just another Malfoy male, that he could be faithful.

_But oh, dearest Merlin, she looks so beautiful._

How could he have even thought of running? Yes, he was being bound to her for life, but was that so bad, really? To be graced by the presence of such beauty for the rest of his life could be considered no terrible thing. He was fortunate to be there rather than in Azkaban, and he would not waste his chance.

"Don' they do the Unbreakable Vow for marriages anymur?" Walburga asked her husband in an obnoxiously loud whisper, voice perfectly level as the man carried on the matrimonial speech.

"No, that went out last decade or so because so many people died of cheating," Orion replied meekly, dabbing his eyes with his handkerchief.

"Filthy scum. Jus' imagine, if we'd have waited another few years y'd've been able to be unfaithful."

"Yes, I know, dear," Orion sighed, as though it was something to be very much desired.

"Do you, Lucius, take Narcissa Elladora to be your lawfully wedded wife, in the eyes of the Ministry and of all here present? Do you promise to keep and honour her, through wealth and poverty, sickness and health, until death possibly do you part?"

Lucius could say, with all sincerity, "I do."

"And do you, Narcissa Elladora, take Lucius to be your lawfully wedded husband, in the eyes of the Ministry and of all here present? Do you promise to keep and honour him, through wealth and poverty, sickness and health, until death possibly do you part?"

Miss Black nodded, voice thick with emotion. "I do."

Something passed between them, and only them. A mutual understanding, a promise, in the gentle rhythm of their breathing and in their eyes. Just for an instant, and it was gone, lost to the wind as it stroked its fingers over their faces. A sense of such completion that neither needed to speak it, for they knew the other felt it too. Something they would not be able to admit to themselves, let alone to each other, for another good few years.

"Then I declare you bonded for life." The man withdrew his wand from within his robes and waved it above the heads of Lucius and Mrs. Malfoy, showering them with silver stars.

Around the couple, on the alter, the white rose buds suddenly burst into bloom and white doves flew out of the overly large petals, leading to a number of choked 'Ooooh's from the crowd. Lucius needed no more prompting, but swept his hand up, catching his wife's veil and lifting it. He wiped the single tear from her cheek as he cupped it, took a moment to admire her radiant face, alight with happiness, and leant into to take her lips with his own.

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><p><strong>Thank you so much for reading thus far.<strong>


	18. Chapter 18

**As usual, I would like to thank my lovely reviewers, both old and new. You make it all worth it.**

**This is the penultimate chapter of If Only Your Father Knew. As always, I hope you enjoy.~**

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><p>The night passed in a blur. Narcissa vaguely remembered her and her new husband signing wedding certificates with a huge white quill, inklessly, their signatures glowing a bright gold upon the parchment. She walked as though upon a cloud as she held onto her husband's arm, emotions careering between elation and shock, sadness and hopefulness. Wherever she went she was followed by whispers of, "Isn't she a beautiful bride?" and, "They make such a lovely couple." She couldn't decide whether she liked it or not.<p>

The 'lovely couple' and their guests had been led to the dining room to eat course after course of succulent foods, drinking and toasting and smiling, before retiring to the ballroom where they had all danced, the newly married couple taking to the floor first, of course. So consumed in one another they had become that they almost forgot the rest of the people around them who joined in the waltz at some point, a few making bigger fools of themselves than others (it turned out that Rodolphus could dance rather well, while the same could not be said for Rabastan). The cutting of the wedding cake had taken place at some point during the night, though Narcissa could barely remember it save for the feeling of her husband's hand enveloping hers, and an aging photographer had wandered around taking as many pictures of the couple as possible to a puff of smoke and the smell of burning plastic.

The crowds began to thin in the more ungodly hours of the morning as guests apparated home, though some were clearly never going to make it; the issuer of the wedding vows teetered on a chair in the entrance hall for most of the night, egg-nog in hand and hiccoughing with high-pitched 'hick's with Dobby beside him, protectively holding a plate with a sliver of wedding cake upon it, eating it miniscule piece by miniscule piece and declaring, "Mistress gave Dobby this!" Most others had the common decency to drunkenly wander about the upper floors and find a vacant bedroom to sleep in and that was where, after speeches, shaking hands with and thanking all who had attended, and wishing people safe journeys home, Narcissa found herself being led by the gentle hand of her husband.

The bedroom that she was coaxed to, upon the door being opened for her, almost made Narcissa gasp. It was nothing that she expected in the master sleeping quarters of Lucius Malfoy's home.

It was huge, but surprisingly light and airy. The walls were a light cream and the carpet bright white, a fire crackling in a hearth set into the wall on Narcissa's left side. A large leather armchair reigned in front of the fire, the same colour as the white marble of the mantelpiece, with a round table beside it and a gramophone declaring its horn proudly on top. Beside the mantelpiece a massive window stretched from near the floor to near the ceiling, boasting the sight of the many acres of Malfoy Manor's gardens and the fields beyond. Pressed against the right wall was a massive four-poster bed, the sheets of light jade silk and drapes a white, airy material, with a large antique chest of drawers on its left side and a chaise lounge at the end. A bedside table, simple compared to the rest of the room, was pressed against the right side of the bed. There were three doors set into the far wall, closed so that Narcissa could not see inside them. A large, ornate clock ticked dully as it declared the time as 3:17 in the morning on top of the mantelpiece and, above it, a frame of gold containing a portrait took up a large percentage of the wall.

Narcissa moved towards the portrait, looking up at the inhabitants who stared back: a woman who sat, straight-backed and smiling, with a very small, very blonde child upon her lap, and a man who stood just as nobly behind the woman, his hand on her shoulder. Narcissa recognised the man as some stranger who had attended the wedding just that day; she had noticed him drinking a fair amount of firewhiskey and asking her Aunt Walburga to dance. He looked quite a lot younger in the portrait, however, less portly and with more hair which was less wispy. He was almost handsome.

The woman, however, Narcissa had never seen before, though she seemed immensely familiar. Her eyes were a dazzling blue, her face angular with high cheek bones and the unmistakable glow of youth about her porcelain skin and golden tresses. It was a curious notion that the woman resembled Narcissa a fair amount.

"You were a very sweet child," Narcissa wondered aloud, having deduced the occupants of the portrait, as she heard the bedroom door close and the muffled steps of highly polished shoes on carpet coming towards her.

A humourless noise of acknowledgement was her only answer. Professor Malfoy – _Oh, how strange to think of him like that. – _placed his hand upon her waist and set his gaze upon the portrait with her. "Not much changes, hm?"

Narcissa snorted in amusement but kept her attention on the woman in the portrait, who was raising her shapely jaw as though to survey Narcissa better. She seemed to be smiling softly, as though in approval. "It is a shame your mother could not have been here today," Narcissa murmured absently, placing her hand upon his at her waist, "but at least your father could make it."

The fingers on her waist tensed, tightening momentarily. "Miss Black, I-"

Narcissa laughed hollowly, tearing her gaze from the portrait to look up at him. "Do you not think it time we start referring to each other by our forenames, _Professor?"_

There was a moment before he smirked. "Why, yes, I do think so, Narcissa. If not now, we never will, I suppose."

Narcissa nodded, allowing the fair amount of white wine she had consumed to govern her movements and moving back into Lucius just a little. "Unless you would rather endearments. Hm." She appeared thoughtful for a moment, pressing a finger to her lips. "Dear is far too common. As is darling. Hm. How about sweetheart? Sweetiepie? Lucipie?"

Lucius stared down at her, hard, his lips pursed.

Narcissa giggled. "No? Hm, what a shame. I rather liked Lucipie."

"Never let Master Lestrange hear you say that," he muttered, squeezing her side again, "and Lucius is just fine, thank you. Now. Those doors, the first is the en-suite, and the other two are walk-in wardrobes." He smirked. "I have already taken the liberty of moving my clothes from the larger of the two to the smaller."

"Well, this marriage may very well work then." She turned to face Profe- _Lucius, _and placed her hands on his chest, looking up into his face. She was so very glad that he _had _inherited the appearance of his mother, and not those of his father. "Do you think she would approve of me?" Narcissa pondered quietly.

Lucius' brow furrowed, his arm draping around her waist. "Who?"

"Your mother."

Lucius' eyes flicked up to the portrait behind Narcissa's head. He slowly nodded, looking back to his wife. "I am sure she would have loved you, yes."

Narcissa smiled, satisfied. Her hands crept up onto Lucius' shoulders. "And your father?"

The man scowled. "We may discuss him some other time. Not now."

She felt her smile waver, but didn't lose it completely, wrapping her arms around Lucius' neck. Even in her heeled wedding shoes she had to rise up closer to tip-toe to do so. "As you wish," she whispered, pulling his hair out of the ornate bow in one easy twist of her fingers. It pooled around his shoulders, and she languidly swept her fingers through it. "So. What now?"

Lucius wrapped his other arm around her waist, holding her securely to him. "I suppose all we have left is consummation of our vows."

Narcissa groaned softly, her alcohol-hazy brain, utterly confused emotional systems and weary body from all the dancing protesting at the idea of strenuous activity. "Can that not wait, Lucius? Until we're both…a little more sober." She smiled reassuringly, stroking her fingers through his hair from scalp to tip. "I wouldn't want it to just be forgotten." She leant forwards and kissed him softly on the mouth as the man looked as though he was going to complain, moving her lips ever so slowly.

It sealed the deal. "Fine," he sighed, "whatever you wish, Narcissa. Then I shall wish you a goodnight. Your room is next door."

Narcissa's eyes narrowed, her hands stilling in mid-stroke through his hair. Suddenly the air was tick with tension. "What do you mean?"

"Surely I mentioned this. I sleep alone, Narcissa."

Narcissa felt her mouth fall open, looking for a hint of jesting upon Lucius' face. She found none. "Certainly you are not serious," she stated, her arms slowly falling from around his neck. "I thought this was _our _room."

Lucius sighed. "It is. That is your wardrobe there. It just so happens that I sleep alone, therefore you will be doing so in the next room."

The spiralling fits of Narcissa's emotions brought tears shooting up to her eyes in mere seconds. "So, what?" she snapped, the volume of her voice rising, "I have to spend the night of the most difficult day of my life _alone?"_

Lucius moved away from Narcissa, rubbing his eyes with his index finger and thumb. "Don't make this any more difficult than it is then, Narcissa."

"Why?" she demanded, tone rising to one of hysteria. She stamped her foot. "Why don't you want me with you? Do I really repulse you that much? Are you that ashamed to have me as a wife?"

"No," Lucius rebuked quickly, turning to look at her, "you don't and I'm not."

"Then tell me why not!" She felt tears spill out onto her cheeks and guessed they were a mixture of genuine and crocodile which habitually spilt in times of trouble.

Again, Lucius sighed, holding his hands out as though in surrender. He wasn't looking at her. "Look, Narcissa, I ca-"

"Just tell me! What can it be which is so bad I can't sleep with my own husband?"

Lucius physically flinched, as though he had been hit. "Narcissa, just-"

"What is it? Sleep walking? Bad dreams? Incompetence? I don't care, Lucius!"

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "I think you mean incontinence. If so I don't know what's worse, you thinking I suffer from it or you not caring if I did."

"Just answer me!"

Lucius sighed in exasperation and looked away, downwards. He seemed to be torn between his pride and being truthful.

"I'm your wife, Lucius," Narcissa whispered, wiping her eyes on the back of her fingers, "Just tell me. Let me try and help you."

Lucius' eyebrows twitched before they furrowed together. He breathed in a great breath. "I'm out of Sleeping Draught."

Narcissa stared at him, trying to work out what significance this had. "Then…nightmares, yes?"

Lucius breathed out agitatedly through his teeth. Confirmation enough for Narcissa, she moved a little closer. "Can't you make your own?"

Still not looking at her, but at some blank spot of wall about a foot to the right of Narcissa's face, Lucius shook his head. "It takes special brewing to create one which can be taken nightly without harmful side effects. Only Hora- Professor Slughorn and Dumbledore can do it, in Hogwarts."

"Then why didn't you ask them for more?" Lucius' raised eyebrow was answer enough. "Damn your pride," she muttered, though it was meant to stay internal.

He shrugged. "Either way, I don't want you to sleep with me for that reason. It is not dignified."

Narcissa rolled her eyes. "Lucius, you cannot stay the high and mighty overlord all your life. Everyone has faults, and you can hardly control what you do in your sleep."

She approached him. When he didn't protest, she raised a hand to his cheek and tenderly guided his eyes to meet hers, stroking over the soft, shaven skin of his jaw. "You _are _only human. Stop forgetting that."

Lucius breathed out a humourless laugh. He angled his head to press into Narcissa's hand, heaving out another sigh. "But I don't want you to…"

"Just one night, Lucius," Narcissa smiled, rubbing the last of her tears away impatiently with her free hand, "we'll see what it's like to share a bed. If you still feel like this in the morning, I will move into a different room for you. Agreed?"

When Lucius looked like he was about to protest, Narcissa moved in again, pressing her body closer to his and rising to brush their lips together. He breathed out against her mouth, an exhalation which seemed to house all his complaints and qualms within the strong smell of firewhiskey, for his shoulders slumped a little as he gave in.

"Alright," he agreed, his lips moving against hers as he formed the word. "One night."

Narcissa smiled and pressed her mouth to his, coaxing a brief but passionate kiss from her husband, before she stepped away with a soft sigh. "Help me out of this, will you?" she requested, turning to proffer the corseted back of her wedding dress to Lucius.

She felt his deft fingers teasing and pulling the white satin ribbon of her dress loose for a few moments before they both allowed it to fall to the floor, pooling about her feet. She had forgotten what she was wearing underneath until there was a sharp intake of breath from behind her. She felt eyes wander down her body, down the corset and line of her bare spine beneath it, over her small, frilled underwear and her legs clad in stockings, made ever more shapely by her heeled white shoes. Narcissa glanced over her shoulder, suddenly feeling very self-conscious.

"Mother's idea," she admitted softly.

Lucius didn't speak, but instead withdrew his wand from his cane and flicked it at the family portrait. A black curtain immediately obscured it from view. "I'm not having my father seeing this," he shrugged to her questioning look as he sheathed his wand, his eyes freely roaming over Narcissa's back.

She sighed and picked up her dress, draping it over the end of the bed as she moved to sit on it. With a soft moan of contentment she slipped off her shoes and wriggled her aching toes. When she set her feet back on the carpet she had to take a moment to marvel at the incredible softness of it. "She did say it would please you."

The sounds of Lucius moving around to the other side of the bed and the gentle rustle of a man removing clothing took place of the silence until he murmured, "You will be keeping these undergarments, won't you?"

"Of course." There was a pause. "Do you have any clothes for me to sleep in? I am afraid my belongings have not been brought here yet from Grimmauld Place."

She looked over her shoulder to see Lucius' robes already neatly off of him and on the bed, untying his cravat. He glanced at her and nodded. "Give me a moment."

Narcissa watched intently as he fingered every button of his shirt loose in turn and removed it, finding the sight of his chest still so very appealing as he exposed it to her. After doing so he set his shirt down and moved to doing the same with his trousers. Clad only in silken boxers and socks, he slipped his wand from his cane, pointing it at his dress robes, shoes and Narcissa's dress. With a wordless spell he sent them zooming into their respective wardrobes where coat hangers settled into the materials and positioned themselves back on the poles for the garments to hang, uncreased. His trousers and shirt threw themselves into a wicker basket in the far corner of the room which Narcissa had not noticed before, while his cravat nestled itself within the top drawer of the chest of drawers.

"Thank you," Narcissa murmured as one of his shirts came flying out of another drawer at her, halting in front of her face as though awaiting its judgement. She plucked it from the air but didn't attempt to put it on. "Could you help me with this?" She pointed to her corset, a little annoyed that he had not offered by now, and becoming even more so when Lucius tilted his head in confusion.

"Are you not a witch?" he inquired mildly, removing his socks and throwing them by hand into the wicker basket. One bounced off the edge and threatened to hit the floor until he flicked his wand, sending it springing into the basket from mid-air.

"Of course," she sighed, "but I would rather… you did it for me."

There was a moment of silence before the soft sounds of Lucius settling onto the bed and moving on his knees behind his wife. Again were the feelings of his fingers untying and loosening the lace of her corset, somewhat reluctantly. She felt her eyes sliding shut in exhaustion as the girdle became looser and she could breathe in deeply. "Thank you," she repeated as the satin slipped from her chest, leaving her torso naked. She brushed her fingers over a number of bruises which had been caused from the tightness and the bones pressing into her ribs with a soft sigh. _Not the nicest of things for a new wife to show her husband. _

She allowed the corset to merely slip to the ground as she pulled Lucius' shirt, still buttoned, on over her head. She navigated her way through the overly large garment, finding that she liked how the sleeves drowned her arms and, though it was washed, the scent of his aftershave still lingered about the collar. She breathed in deeply, feeling safe.

"You may wish to keep your underwear on," Lucius advised as he moved back, sliding under the sheets, watching Narcissa unclip her suspenders and roll down her stockings. "Else I can't be held responsible for whatever happens."

Narcissa's lips lifted in a soft smile, her eyes rolling. "Such a man."

"Why, thank you."

As a punishment for the evident smirk in his voice which indicated that he read far too much into her statement and took it as quite the compliment, she threw a stocking at him.

"How childish," he sighed, throwing it over into the wicker basket. He raised his wand to the chandelier and extinguished the candles, the only sources of light being the lamp on his bedside table and the fire crackling lowly in the corner of the room.

Narcissa slipped under the covers and moved towards Lucius, fitting her body easily to his side and lying on the arm which was proffered to her. He reached over with his free hand and retracted a book and a pair of glasses from the drawer of the bedside table, placing the glasses on the bridge of his nose and levitating the book open in front of him.

Narcissa leant forwards to look at the book interestedly, before giggling. "Fifi LaFolle? Really?"

Lucius smirked, draping his arms around her shoulders. He lightly stroked her upper arm through his shirt. "Don't judge me."

Narcissa shook her head, placing her hand upon her husband's bare chest. She raised her head to look up at him, breathing in his cologne. At first she was unsure whether to speak, for he appeared quite consumed in the book, but a glance at her hand spurred her into asking. "Lucius?"

"Mm?"

"Why don't we have wedding rings?"

"Because, Narcissa, don't you think it will appear odd that we both return to school with said rings when neither of us had them prior?"

Her eyes narrowed. "I am not to be returning to Hogwarts, am I?" she wondered, tracing gentle patterns with her nails over Lucius' chest, and smiling at the noise he made when she traced a certain spot just above one of his ribs.

"I have no qualms with you finishing your education. Unless you would rather be staying in this house alone all year save for holidays."

Narcissa shook her head. "No. I want to go back to school."

"Well then," Lucius reasoned.

"But my mother said…"

"Your mother no longer controls your life, Narcissa. You are a Malfoy. You do as you please."

Narcissa nodded numbly. "I suppose. Will we have them one day?"

"Have what?"

"Wedding rings?"

"Of course."

Narcissa's lips twitched upwards, somewhat more reassured. She glanced out of the window, where, out on the horizon, sunlight was lighting up the dark blue sky with the tinge of light purple, bathing the fields with a soft glow. Long shadows loomed out in the wake of trees and sheep, giving them the illusion of stretching in preparation for a new day. The clock upon the mantelpiece dully chimed four times, the inner workings creaking as they turned. Both of them glared at it reproachfully.

"Yes, I'll get rid of it," Lucius confirmed without even having to look at Narcissa.

"Good. But come to sleep, Lucius?"

Lucius grunted quietly. "I'm not tired."

_Lies. _She sighed, kissing his jaw. "It'll be alright," Narcissa crooned, reaching up to tentatively remove his glasses. When he looked at her but didn't protest she took them off, folded them, and placed them and the book on the bedside table.

With tender hands she guided Lucius to lie down further into the bed, his head in the pillows rather than on the headboard. He sighed dejectedly, worriedly, seeming intent on keeping his eyes open.

"Lucius," Narcissa whispered, "trust me." Lying impossibly close to him, she raised a hand to his hair and ran her fingers through the platinum locks, from scalp to tip, as she had done so many times before.

Like always, Narcissa appeared to have pressed the right buttons. Lucius made a soft noise, as though he was being defeated but was quite content about it, and turned his head towards her to expose more of his hair. Smiling, she brushed her fingers through it easily, letting it slide through the partitions between her digits. Ever slowly, ever gently, she adopted a careful and fluid motion which should, with any luck, coax her husband to slumber, and was quite pleased with herself when it worked. Within minutes he was breathing deeply, brow furrowed even in his sleep.

She tutted and kissed his lips for just a moment. "Goodnight," she whispered, before nuzzling her head into the crook of Lucius' neck, falling asleep within his arms.

When morning crept into the window, intruding upon the couple with voyeuristic rays of bright light, the drapes shut of their own accord around the four-poster bed, allowing the two to continue sleeping more soundly than they ever could ever remember.

* * *

><p>"Oh, good morning," Lucius wondered aloud after confirming that the people around his dining room table were real and not figments of his own hangover. Apparently Dobby had gone all out, for the table was laden with plates, piled high with food with an amount fit for an entire Hogwarts house. The few guests that had remained from the wedding and had not apparated home at daybreak, looking groggy and as worse for wear as the groom himself, looked up at him and grunted a hello.<p>

The first person he saw was the issuer of the vows, bald head bowed as though trying to escape the sunlight, staring down into the dregs of his coffee. Lucius sighed, guessing that he would be one of those people immensely difficult to get rid of. Ignoring the aging wizard completely, he immediately swept over to Druella, took her hand and kissed it to the usual shy smile and blush. Miss Bellatrix Black stared up at him with a look of pure scorn as she sipped her black coffee, while Miss Andromeda's nose was too far into Lucius' issue of the Daily Prophet to give any indication that she even realised he was there.

Master Lestrange and his brother glanced up from their plates of full English breakfasts and cast identical smirks at Lucius. "Where's Cissa?" Master Lestrange pondered mockingly, "Worn her out already?"

Lucius threw him a scathing look as he took his seat at the head of the table. "She's out in the entrance hall. I trust those are her belongings out there?" He directed the question at Druella, who nodded.

"Have you had a good morning so far?" the older Master Lestrange asked nonchalantly, munching a whole sausage speared on his fork.

"Not bad. Thank you for asking," Lucius replied stiffly.

"You and Cissa get up to much, huh?"

"No. She and I merely moved some of the bedroom around more to our liking."

"Oh, yeah, I'm sure shifting the bed about was to your liking," Master Rodolphus Lestrange smirked.

"Amazing how much confirmation from little Cissa it takes to move some furniture, too," the other added, snorting at Lucius' expression.

"Here," Andromeda called to Lucius, throwing the Daily Prophet up to him. "Get distracted in this before they carry on and Bella hexes them to oblivion."

Sure enough, Bellatrix's glower was enough to make the two Lestranges return quietly (or not so much, since Lucius would assume a swine had more table manners and made less noise than the two teenagers as they ate) to their food, while he irritably opened the paper.

An uncomfortable silence descended on the table, broken only by the squelching noises of the Lestranges and the rustling of pages as Lucius worked his way through the Daily Prophet. It was a good few minutes before the doors of the dining room opened again, and Lucius heard the little noise of shock that he was expecting.

"Hello, mother," Narcissa murmured, "No father?"

"He left with your aunt and uncle early this morning. Said he needs to be back home away from this place."

Lucius bristled, his hands clenching on the pages of the Prophet, but no one seemed to notice. He lowered the newspaper and folded it, having found nothing interesting in the contents. He tossed it onto the tabletop and poured himself a cup of coffee, black and sugarless.

"What are you still doing here then?" Narcissa asked.

"I am just making sure you are settling in well, that you know what you are doing as a wife, letting you know your belongings are in the hall," Druella replied silkily.

Narcissa's eyes located her husband at the head of the table. She seemed torn between sitting beside her sisters or up beside him for a moment, before finally deciding the latter. Lucius rose to pull out the chair at his right side for her.

"Thank you," she said softly, gathering the soft material of her light green summer dress around her to comfortably sit down. Lucius noticed from his vantage point that it was fitted to exaggerate the trimness of her waist and make her breasts all the fuller, and allowed his eyes to linger downwards upon her cleavage perhaps just a moment too long before returning to his own seat.

"I am settling in fine, mother," Narcissa nodded down the table at the woman, "No need to fret. And I know quite well what I am doing as a wife, thank you."

"I'll bet," muttered the younger Master Lestrange, while the older snorted with mirth into his fried egg.

"Bella, no," Miss Andromeda Black warned to her older sister, raising a finger as though to add to the point. Miss Bellatrix Black looked at her sister's finger as though she was about to bite it off but controlled herself. "_We're_ here 'cause, well, we don't know when we'll see you now," the middle sister addressed the youngest. "I mean, if you're not going to Hogwarts anymore."

"Oh, I am," Narcissa replied airily, helping herself to a croissant, "Lucius and I have both agreed it would be best to let me finish my education. And since we'll be closer, all the better."

"Narcissa," snapped Druella, "you have a home to look after, and-"

"The manor is quite alright with the house-elves to tend to it," Lucius cut in, "and it is my wish that Narcissa returns to Hogwarts with me. Unless you would have her go against the will of her husband?"

He raised a questioning eyebrow to Druella, who immediately shook her head. "I meant no disrespect, Lucius," she rectified softly.

"Well, then. Narcissa will be on the Hogwarts Express on April 19th with her sisters. As is customary for me being a member of staff, I shall be getting the train to the school on the day before. And that's that."

There was a moment of silence. Then Miss Andromeda shrugged. "Alright. We're off then, if you'll be in school." She stood, and Bellatrix immediately followed. "C'mere and give us a hug. I don't think I can stay in this mangy place anymore. No offence," she added absently to Lucius.

"Mm."

He watched as his wife embraced his sisters- and mother-in-law, realising how unbelievably strange that sounded. _How the hell did this ever happen? _The very latter held her daughter impossibly close, whispering things which Lucius couldn't hear but thinking that they were probably words of advice which would benefit him in some way, so he wouldn't complain.

"Goodbye, Lucius," Druella cooed to him as she let go of her daughter, eyelashes batting and lips curved up into a slight smile. "I hope to see you again soon."

"And I you, Druella," he nodded, raising his china cup to her.

There were three identical snaps like a whip through the air, and the Blacks were gone.

"Well," muttered Master Rodolphus Lestrange, "it should be fun to have you both back at school. Good luck keeping your royal secret."

"Oh, it'll be fine, as long as you can keep your mouth shut," Narcissa replied flippantly, returning to her seat on Lucius' right side.

"What will you do about Crowley?"

Lucius stiffened as he sat back in the dining room chair, waiting for her answer. The strange stabbing sensation in his stomach which always seemed to accompany mention of Master Crowley punctured his gut and left as soon as it came, for Narcissa just shrugged.

"Tell him to go and choke, maybe?" she suggested nonchalantly. "I am a wife now. I cannot spend my precious time on scum like that. Pass me the sugar, would you, darling?"

* * *

><p>The return to Hogwarts came all too soon, in Narcissa's opinion. She had soon become accustomed to the rules of the household – "No shouting and not running under <em>any <em>circumstances," being two of the ones she had the most trouble with getting used to. – and with navigating the many rooms, including some of the more secret ones which Lucius had not introduced her to. She was surprised to stumble upon what appeared to be his sleeping quarters as a teenager since, upon close inspection, a number of Play Wizard magazines were found in the drawer of the bedside table. She had also become very friendly with a number of the portraits of the Malfoy family, often stopping to talk to them. She found she rather liked Elizabeth Burke, who told her about the room beneath the carpet in one of the drawing rooms.

It did not take Narcissa long to begin giving the manor a 'woman's touch'. In just two weeks three rooms had been completely redecorated to make them more homely. Dobby was more than happy to help the new lady of the manor with anything she requested of it, and so the elf became more increasingly caked in paint until Lucius told it to, "Have a wash, you filthy thing."

Lucius had, at first, complained about Narcissa's drastic changes to his manor, but she had argued and cried and kissed him until she won her own way. And the promise to christen every room of the house was more than enough to make Lucius allow her to do whatever she should please to his home.

_Our home._

She was almost reluctant to floo to Platform 9¾ on April 19th, for it meant leaving the house which she hadn't finished working on which annoyed her greatly, but she would be missed at school. And she wanted Lucius…

After over two weeks of sleeping with him the bed had seemed immensely empty on the previous night. She found herself reverting to her old tactics of using a pillow and pretending that it was his body she was curling up to rather than cotton and goose feathers. It hadn't worked well. It wasn't him she missed, it was just the domineering presence of him; the heat of his body at night, the knowledge of him being there hidden behind the pages of the Daily Prophet at breakfast, the way his aftershave lingered upon her after they had sex. That was all.

There was nothing about him to miss. And no reason she should miss him. His gentle touches or tender kisses or-

She took a handful of floo powder and threw it into the fire of the study, stepping into the swirling heat as the flames licked her legs pleasantly. There was the loud whooshing sound as she stated her destination clearly, quite ready to be on the Hogwarts Express with Maurice, away from thoughts of her husband.

* * *

><p>"Hey, Cissa?" came an all too familiar voice from down the corridor behind her, not far enough away by any stretch of the imagination.<p>

Narcissa sighed and glanced over her shoulder, stopping. "What, Tobias?" she muttered, folding her arms defensively across her chest. She was careful that her left hand was resting upon her right upper arm, her engagement clearly visible.

He came closer to her, all dazzling smiles, amiability and charm. "Could I perhaps talk to you for a moment?"

Narcissa condescendingly tilted her head. "Well, there was your moment. And how enlightening it was. Goodbye." She turned to continue on her way to the Great Hall, but Crowley seemed to have other ideas. He reached forwards and gripped her upper arm, so tightly that when Narcissa tried to pull away she found she could not.

"Just a few minutes," Crowley shrugged, giving Narcissa his toothiest smile.

Narcissa sighed in exasperation. "We've been back in school a week and you want to talk to me now? Why not sooner?"

"Because I've been mustering up the words to say. Can we please just talk? On our own," he added pointedly, glancing to Andromeda who had been walking at Narcissa's side. "Then I'll leave you alone."

Narcissa searched Crowley's face, seeking sincerity. She found some hint of it in his eyes, but how genuine it was she didn't know. She stared at Andromeda, as though seeking help, but the older sister merely shrugged.

"Andy, save me a seat in the hall, yes?" Narcissa conceded eventually, "And make sure there's some salad left for me."

Andromeda nodded unsurely, giving Crowley a hard and threatening stare which reminded Narcissa that the middle sister really _was _a Black, before turning and walking away. She glanced over her shoulder uncertainly more than once.

"Right, what do you want?" Narcissa demanded, refolding her arms defiantly.

Crowley flicked his head back, motioning over his shoulder. "Can we go into the classroom back there? I don't want anyone overhearing."

Narcissa raised her head, scrutinizing the boy in front of her. He appeared to be being quite friendly, smile wide and gaze requesting. Her lips pursed as she weighed up his words and the prospect of getting to the Great Hall more quickly for her food. Deciding the latter was more important, she nodded. "Fine."

The classroom was the same one in which Lucius – well, Professor Malfoy – had walked in on Crowley about to kiss her. The tables were much the same, in groups around the room, though there were a fair few more burns and stains in them than there had been all those months ago. The portrait which had inhabited the far wall at that time was gone, presumably from damage, since there were large splashes of dark liquid coating the wall, ending in straight lines where the frame would have been. Upon the teacher's desk were numerous glass phials filed with identical liquid, all with name tags on.

"So. What?" Narcissa commanded as soon as the door shut behind her and she turned to look at Crowley. She made sure to unfold her arms and allow her wand to slip down into her hand, should he be trying something unwanted. A flicker of his body pressing into hers, the hot stench of firewhiskey and cigarettes on his breath as he whispered onto her cheek flashed into her conscious, and she gripped her wand tighter.

He shrugged, watching her with an unreadable expression. All traces of smiles had gone. "Who is your new suitor?"

Narcissa sighed. "Not this, Tobias. You don't need to know. It is my business."

"I think it is also my business to know who the man who has stolen my future wife is," he snapped. It was like a whip across Narcissa's back. She suddenly felt incredibly stupid being led into the classroom alone.

"Well, it is not," Narcissa muttered as darkly as possible past the fear which threatened to make her voice waver, "so if you would excuse me, I have better things to be doing."

Crowley swept forwards. His hands gripped Narcissa's upper arms, hard, and he pushed her forcefully back into the nearest table. She winced as the sharp edge of the desk cut into her back, causing her spine to arch at the force he was exerting on her upper body.

"Crowley!" she choked out in a pained cry, her wand beginning to slip from her fingers as she felt her grip slacken at the pain. The boy looked down at her hand, noticing her wand, and snatched it from her fingers.

"You won't be needing this," he snarled, throwing Narcissa's only means of defence across the room. "Now. Tell me. Who is it you are going to be married to?"

Tears sprang to Narcissa's eyes as Crowley pressed closer to her, holding her into the table. She tried to squirm but his grip was with practised strength, result of having to grab the snitch so tightly in quidditch matches. "Please, stop," she whispered, clenching her eyes shut rather than looking at him. His breath smelt of mint, with no sign of alcohol. She, nor he, could blame his actions upon inebriation this time.

"Is it someone in this school? Another student?" he growled, shaking Narcissa, "Tell me, and I'll tear them apart myself."

Narcissa shook her head desperately. "No, no, it's not!" she proclaimed, overly loudly in the hope that someone would hear and come to her rescue, "You don't know him!"

One of Crowley's hands left Narcissa's arms. She was almost hopeful that he was going to let go, until she felt his fingers upon her neck. He wrapped his hand around her throat, squeezing tightly with his fingernails digging into the pale skin. She let out a scared whimper before she could no longer make sound at the force exerted on her windpipe, tears leaking from her closed eyelids.

"I told you," Crowley snarled, pressing his hips into Narcissa's, "that I would have you. And I stick by that."

Narcissa let out a cry for help which resulted only in a soft choking sound as Crowley's grip tightened around her throat. She could feel his growing arousal through his trousers, pressing into her upper thigh, could feel his other hand move from her arm to reach down and hitch her skirt up.

"I will have you, Narcissa," he whispered, deathly quiet, as his fingers roamed between her thighs, roughly pushing and forcing and she wanted to fight but she was too scared, willing someone, anyone, to come to her help, _oh, please, Merlin, please-!_

There was a bang, like a small explosion, and suddenly Crowley's weight was gone. Narcissa opened her eyes wide and found that, sure enough, he wasn't there anymore. Her knees immediately gave way without the forceful body to press her against the table, and the collapsed to the floor in a trembling mess.

"Narcissa," came a hushed voice, as a figure stooped down beside her. She flinched and leant away, holding her arm up as though in bracing herself for another onslaught. The hand that held hers, however, was reassuring and familiar.

"Lucius," she whimpered, pushing the tears from her eyes to bring her saviour for the third time, was it?, into focus. She moved her hand in an attempt to entwine their fingers, but Lucius was already standing. Narcissa leant forwards to watch him.

Crowley was shaking on the floor, propped up on his elbows and glaring up at Lucius with pure hatred. "What the fuck do you think you're doing, Professor?" he snarled, "You know teachers aren't allowed to use magic against students."

"True enough," Lucius replied silkily, though with an edge of razor intensity, "but if you ever touch my wife again, I will make sure that I secure myself a place in Azkaban for the magic I use against you."

Crowley's mouth dropped open just as Narcissa's stomach dropped through the floor. _Oh, Merlin, no._

Crowley stared at Narcissa. Then Lucius. Then back to Narcissa. "Wife?" he gaped.

"Oh, you may want this back," Lucius continued airily, and reached into his pocket. He pulled out an engagement ring, huge and of worn gold with obnoxiously large rubies set into the band. He flicked it to Crowley, who let it hit the floor and spiral around him. "She won't be needing it anymore."

"This is sick. You're si-"

"Get out," Lucius snapped, "I don't want you in my sight."

Crowley couldn't seem to get up fast enough. He snatched the ring up off the floor and swiftly left the room, slamming the door behind him without so much as looking over his shoulder.

"You know he's about to tell the entire school," whispered Narcissa weakly.

Lucius snorted. "Let him." He leant back down beside Narcissa, offering her his hand. "Come on, get up."

Swallowing back the acidic taste of bile, Narcissa placed her fingers into Lucius' and shakily rose, using him for support. "How did you know I was here?" she asked, to fight the wave of nausea.

"Your sister, Miss Andromeda, tipped me off. She came and found me when you walked off alone with Master Crowley." Narcissa heard the scowl in his voice and nodded, agreeing with the unspoken notion that she had been incredibly stupid.

"I hope I have not interrupted you from something important."

"I was merely telling your oldest sister and her unfortunate other half that they both have an audience with the Dark Lord tomorrow evening, as promised. So no, you needn't worry."

Narcissa nodded. "Good." Leaning on the tables for support, Narcissa made her way to the other side of the room to find her wand. She located it under the desk nearest the far corner of the room and checked it for any damage. Relieved at it being fine, she slipped it back up into her sleeve. "I'm glad." She nodded again, stepping back towards Lucius, thinking how much better she felt from the short walk.

Then she had her face buried in her husband's chest, crying hysterically into his cloak. Her arms were wrapped tightly around his neck and his were likewise, protectively around her waist, stroking the small of her back. "I'm sorry," she whimpered pitifully, "I tried to fight him off but- I-I tried and-" The rest of her words were drowned in harsh, wracking sobs. Lucius remained silent.

It was at least five minutes before Narcissa had calmed down enough to stem the tears. She sniffed and rubbed her eyes on the back of her hands, still embracing her husband to avoid looking at him. _What must he think of me?_

"I'm sorry," she repeated softly into Lucius' wet shirt, her hands balling into fists and holding his cloak tightly to prevent his escape. "I just…I didn't know what I was doing."

"It's quite alright," Lucius murmured just as quietly, one hand rising to stroke her hair. His fingers found a sensitive spot behind her ear which he had discovered during the April holiday and gently stroked. Narcissa relaxed almost immediately, making a soft noise of contentment and for a moment forgetting everything which had transpired.

Then, "Lucius. Why did you have Crowley's engagement ring?" When Lucius didn't reply after a few seconds, she looked up at him through her misty gaze.

He was looking away. "I just…picked it up in the Room of Requirement?"

"If you had of done you would have given it to me."

There was a pause. Then Lucius sighed. "I didn't want you to marry him."

Narcissa half-giggled and half-sniffed, making a remarkably strange noise. "Why? Would you have been jealous?"

Lucius bestowed her with a solid stare.

Narcissa slowly smiled. She wiped her cheeks with the palm of her hand, making sure to look more dignified, before leaning up to kiss him softly. "Well, the best man won," she whispered.

Lucius smirked against her lips. "My thoughts exactly."

* * *

><p>Rumours spread fast at Hogwarts. Rumours started about teachers from the sources of 'popular' students spread even faster. Within days the entirety of Slytherin was staring at Narcissa, whispering behind her back and pointing to her in the corridors. She, personally, didn't really care. She could handle the tongues of venom because she knew that every one of them, even without solid evidence, believed very much that it was true, and every one of them was jealous of the thought of Narcissa being married to Lucius Malfoy.<p>

Her husband, however, seemed to be having greater problems.

Her Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson on the last Wednesday of April was possibly the most eventful in terms of the rumours about her and her teacher. Most of them had died down, with poisonous things only being whispered from student to student rather than hollered from the rooftops, but in Hogwarts it only takes one voice to change that.

"Now," began Lucius, and the class immediately fell silent. Narcissa stared up at him, absently twirling her quill in her fingers and ignoring looks from Maurice who was trying to find proof of their marriage as though in a love-struck look. "We have completed every section needed for you to pass your O.W.L.s examinations, therefore-"

A rising, warbling note interjected over the top of Lucius' voice, causing his eyes to narrow and his mouth to shut. Looking around for the cause was futile, for it was invisible, and it was coming from the ceiling somewhere, and it was singing in the tune of Daisy Bell:

"Luci, Luci, marry your students, do~

Were you something old and your wife was something new?~

It's a shame for all the girlies, who for you will falls~

'Cause you're bareback with Cissy Black, all the way up to the-~"

"Peeves, out, now!" Lucius roared, pointing his wand towards the chandelier. There was a sound like a gunshot and the little ghost, semi-visible, toppled from the ornate lighting. With a cry of what sounded like pain amidst the cackling the poltergeist zoomed out of the classroom door.

The entire classroom, open-mouthed, watched as Lucius' face suddenly flushed with colour. They had never seen it before, so when he turned around to hide it, they immediately began whispering to one another, looking over to Narcissa and back to the prone form of the teacher as he stared down at his desk, trying to regain some composure.

Narcissa stared blankly at her own tabletop, trying to fight her own encroaching blush and the sting of tears. It wasn't working. One of them had to leave. And by the looks of it, it wouldn't be her.

* * *

><p>That evening, Lucius steeled himself. <em>This can be done. <em>He drew in a deep breath, held it and said, "Chocolate orange."

The gargoyle at the base of the stairs leading to the headmaster's office sprang to life and leapt aside, bowing to Lucius and exposing the spiralling stone steps to him. Gripping his cane defiantly, he ascended them as solemnly as if he were tackling the short flight of stairs before the long drop of the gallows.

The headmaster's office looked the same as ever. On the banister of the stairs leading to the second floor of the office the phoenix perched, preening its feathers with soft crooning sounds. Most of the portraits around the room seemed uninterested at his presence, though Phineas Nigellus Black appeared quite the opposite.

"Well well," the painting occupant said, giving Lucius quite the heavily-lidded stare.

Lucius ignored him completely and turned his attention to the man at his desk, fingers entwined, resting upon his long beard, and looking at Lucius studiously. He cleared his throat.

"Albus, there is a pressing matter I must discuss with you."

Albus inclined his head, still bestowing the scrutinizing stare upon Lucius. He held out his hand to offer the blond the chair on the opposite side of his desk. "What is it that ails you, Lucius?" he murmured soberly, though a smile played about his lips as Lucius sat.

"I will make no pretence about this, Albus. I wish to hand in my resignation for my immediate departure of my position in this school."

Albus seemed completely unsurprised, though he lowered his head again solemnly. "It will be a great loss to Hogwarts. Are you positive that it must be now?"

Lucius nodded curtly, his hand twisting around the snake's head at the end of his cane. "Yes. I must leave immediately. There are pressing personal matters I must attend to."

"Making your manor fit for the new Mrs. Malfoy, no doubt," Albus murmured, eyes twinkling.

For a moment Lucius didn't register what the headmaster had said. Then came the panic. He felt everything go cold, a weight swirling in the pit of his abdomen. "I don't know what you mean, Albus," he lied quietly, finding his throat very dry.

Albus shook his head nobly. "Alas, rumours spread quickly, Lucius."

Lucius made a low noise of humourless amusement, searching for ways to escape his current situation. "Surely you do not believe the drivel of students, Albus."

"Ah, unfortunately it is very difficult to part truth from mere speculation when head of an establishment such as this, but when clarification comes from more reliable sources… Well, it is hard not to believe."

Lucius glanced up to look at the portrait of Phineas, who looked immensely pleased with himself. One side of Lucius' top lip lifted in a scowl and his eyes narrowed. _Bloody Blacks. _

"And," continued Albus, "you seem to assume that I do not know what is happening in my own school." He cast the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher a hard but amiable stare. When Lucius remained completely still and silent, Albus continued with, "Admittedly, when I first discovered of you and Miss Black you had both gone too far for me to intervene."

Lucius felt a deep flush stain his cheeks despite himself. "What do you mean, Albus?" he inquired quietly, coldly.

Albis only smiled. "I have known of the two of you for quite some time, Lucius. Since Miss Black rather recklessly ran into the Forbidden Forest."

"Then why didn't you stop it?"

Albus' eyes lost a little of their sparkle. "You would not have ceased. Neither of you. I do not necessarily mean you have gone too far in the ways you are thinking of either, my dear Lucius." He paused, smiling ruefully. "I did not want to be the cause for two more broken hearts."

Lucius allowed his eyebrow to twitch upwards but continued to stare. "So. What now?"

"Well," Albus smiled brightly, parting his arms and holding them out as though in acceptance, "you have pledged your lives to each other, have you not? No harm was done. If nothing I believe you have made a young woman happy for the rest of her life. Should there really be sentence for that?"

Lucius nearly snorted but restrained it well. "Why didn't you call the guards of Azkaban in sooner? Or fire me?"

Albus clapped his hands back together, entwining his gnarled fingers. "As I said, I do not want to be the cause for two more broken hearts. Who am I to come between two people, Lucius?"

Lucius stared incredulously. "That is ridiculous. In the eyes of the law-"

"In the eyes of the law you and Miss Black – I beg your pardon, Mrs. Malfoy – are bonded for life. You are atoning for your crimes, Lucius, so where is the sense of parting you from your beautiful new wife in forcing you to serve sentence in Azkaban?"

Lucius' eyes narrowed. "But you could not have known we would marry," he reasoned.

"Why not?"

"We both know even you think divination is not the more reliable of practises, Albus."

The headmaster chuckled. "Well, if you would like to pay sentence, I can call a pair of dementors right here, now, to take you if you would rather."

"No," Lucius rectified quickly, grip tensing on his cane, "please, don't. I…am grateful for your understanding." His pride scolded him mentally at admitting such a thing to the Muggle-loving coot, but he could handle it.

"So, you would still like to leave immediately?" Albus inquired politely, adding, "Oh, I am sorry, where are my manners. Sherbet lemon?"

Lucius shook his head and raised his hands at the obnoxiously-coloured sweets as he said, "Yes. Today, preferably."

Albus bowed his head. "Alas, if it is to be, it shall be. I wonder if I can obtain Professor Dartemy to substitute for the remainder of this year. No doubt a few pints of butterbeer will soften his resolve should he try to refuse."

"I have taught both my O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. classes everything they need to get through their examinations. It should not be hard for any temporary professor to simply aid their studies."

Albus nodded. "I am very appreciative."

A pause. Then, "May Miss Bl-…Narcissa stay and finish her studies?"

Albus reclined in his high-backed chair, hands resting upon his beard. "Why, of course. But bear in mind I cannot obliviate an entire school. I am sincerely afraid that she shall have to live with the rumours."

"They will die down," Lucius nodded, rising from his seat. "I must thank you for the job for the past six years, an am most regretful that I must leave in this way."

"The pleasure has been all mine, Lucius," Albus smiled cordially as he also stood, extending his hand. "I am reluctant to see you leave. But I wish you a fruitful future and every happiness with your new wife."

Hesitantly, Lucius took Albus' bony fingers in his own and gripped his hand, hard. Albus kept his grasp relaxed, smiling mildly. Then Lucius let go, nodded, turned on heel and exited the headmaster's office, cane clicking at every other step.

Sighing softly, Albus watched the door close as the man departed. "What will become of him? Higher powers will not be best pleased," he whispered to no one in particular. Fawkes made a low purring noise at which the headmaster chuckled ruefully. "I thought so too." His gaze turned wistfully down to his aged, withering hands. Heavily, he sighed.

"Oh, to be young, foolish, and in love."

* * *

><p><strong>As always, thank you for reading thus far.<strong>


	19. Chapter 19

**The final chapter.**

**For the last time, but as always, I hope you enjoy.~**

* * *

><p>Lucius pulled out the top drawer of his classroom desk and set it on the desktop. He removed the contents one by one, deciding what to do with each item in turn.<p>

"Chalk, supplies," he murmured aloud to himself, flicking his wand at the pieces of chalk and sending them spiralling over his head and into the large cabinet at the back of the room in which all the lesson supplies were kept. "Quill and ink, mine," he flicked his wand again and they settled themselves into the huge leather suitcase, open at Lucius' feet. "Vanilla truffles… Definitely mine."

He stared wistfully down at the little box, the unmistakable smell of them rising up to his nostrils despite the distance between them. His brow furrowed as he realised where it had all gone wrong. _The smell of her perfume_.

Oh, how he had tried to stop her from being the one to destroy everything, he really had. He had tried his hardest to balance his job as a teacher, his true duty to the Dark Lord and the ever growing attraction he felt towards Miss Narcissa Black – _Malfoy – _and he had failed. He could take the jeering, the whispers and the scorn thrown at him from every direction, even from in the staff room. But to see Narcissa's eyes become misty at their poisonous words, to see her plagued by questions and second guesses and rumours. No, he could not deal with that.

The strangely familiar knot in his stomach tightened painfully.

He would not allow his wife to be hurt for him anymore.

_But the Dark Lord. _

The Dark Lord would hear of his resignation from Hogwarts, no doubt. Lucius was fairly sure Albus would stop any journalists getting hold of such a story, but one way or another the Dark Lord would hear. Lucius suspected it would be a better idea to write a letter to the Dark Lord and inform him by his own hand, for he doubted that the brutal shadow of a man that Tom Riddle had become, the crude façade of humanity, would be very merciful towards Lucius if he found out about the failure of his 'most faithful follower' from another source.

But then again, Lucius reasoned as he buried his head in his hands, he doubted the Dark Lord would be very merciful if he _did _inform him himself.

He was afraid. There was no use of him hiding it from himself. He had seen what the Dark Lord was capable of towards Edgar Bones. Would be consider Lucius' resignation simply a failure? Or betrayal? Mutiny? And what if he found out about Narcissa? What if he hurt Narcissa?

_What if he hurt Narcissa?_

Oh, Merlin, the mere thought sent a stabbing pain straight to his chest. The Dark Lord had been so eager to kill the rest of Edgar's family in order to gain his alliance, so what would stop him threatening –

_Killing._

_- _Narcissa in order to force Lucius to prove his allegiance? What was it he had said? _"I cannot have traitors… How easily you denounce your following of Albus Dumbledore, with merely a threat of the life of your child." _ What if the Dark Lord threatened Narcissa, in order to test Lucius?

Either way, would he have to watch her die?

A surge of anger passed through Lucius like a needle through skin. He swept his arm across the desk with a snarl, knocking the drawer off the desktop with stacks of papers which crashed and fluttered to the floor respectively. He closed his eyes and pressed his fingers into the lids, trying to ignore the foreign prickle behind them, the rising wave of despair at the thought that he had put Narcissa in harm's way.

_Dear Merlin, what have I done?_

But, he reminded himself as he drew in a deep, shaking breath to regain some composure, she was remaining at school. She would be under the care of Albus Dumbledore, out of the clutches of threatening punishment. The Dark Lord may never even need know of her. He was overreacting. Just overreacting.

Lucius swallowed. It would be his punishment, and he would deal with it alone. Narcissa would never need to get involved, or ever know. It would be two years before she graduated, and by that time everything may have finished.

It would all be fine.

"Well, I never," breathed one of the occupants of the portraits around the room, having watched Lucius' sudden bout of ire. He glared up at the owner of the voice who promptly hid behind a compact lace fan, hiding her face as though hoping he would not turn his wrath upon her.

Irritably, Lucius swished his wand upwards. The scattered papers and broken drawer returned faithfully onto the desktop. Another flick and the drawer was fixed without a blemish. No longer with much motivation to continue packing, he prised the lid off the little white box of truffles and removed one from within.

Like all of Lucius' possessions it was of the finest quality, not a member of the riffraff of the chocolate world purchased at Honeydukes. He rolled it between his thumb and middle finger meditatively, watching the sugar dusting whisper off onto his fingers, and wondered exactly how he had jeopardised everything for a woman. For curls, innocence and the smell of vanilla.

"Bloody Blacks," he concluded in a soft murmur, before biting into the confection. He sat back in the plush leather of his chair, allowing the mix of fine chocolate and vanilla to mingle upon his tongue with practised refined manner, before swallowing with a soft, content sigh. _Oh, the simple pleasures of life are by far the most divine, are they not? _

Yes, the simple pleasures. The taste of vanilla, the intake of a cigar, the feeling of deft little fingers running through hair…

He smirked softly and with the same sophistication placed the last of the truffle upon his tongue, pressing his thumb and middle finger into his lips to allow the sugar dusting onto them rather than having to brush it upon his clothing like an uncultured brute.

He had replaced the lid on the box with a soft sigh and raised his wand to guide the confection into his suitcase, when the door of the classroom suddenly slammed open. His eyebrow rose. In one swift motion he cast his wand around the room, snapping the black curtains over the portraits who protested loudly, before acknowledging the person in the doorway.

"Hello, Narcissa. May I help you?"

Apparently she had run to him, for her hair was dishevelled and her lips were parted in the most pleasing way as she breathed heavily. She leant upon the doorframe, casting her eyes over the desk and coming to settle on the suitcase at Lucius' feet. He was sure that he noticed a look of betrayal in her eyes when blue met grey.

"So it's true?" she inquired, though it was more of a statement. "You're leaving?"

"It is for the best, Miss Black."

Narcissa let out a derisive laugh. She took a step into the classroom and kicked the door closed, haughtily folding her arms. "Wrong on all counts."

Lucius' brow furrowed. "My apologies, Narcissa. Force of habit."

She rolled her eyes. "And who is it best for, hm? You and your _pride?_" Her tone was full of scorn, as though _she _was the one that Lucius was failing. He bristled, eyes narrowing.

"Narcissa, it is best for us both. This way the rumours will simply fizzle out. If I am here it will merely be a catalyst for more snide remarks which will ultimately upset you. I cannot…" He paused, swallowed. "It is highly inappropriate that I remain as a professor while I am married to you anyway. I thought it would work, but I acknowledge now that it will not. Especially with the likes of Master Crowley, well." Lucius' lip curled in a sneer at his mention, averting his eyes from Narcissa. "I cannot bring myself to look upon him. It would not bear well for me to continue trying to teach him."

"And what, _Professor_, happens when Crowley tries his luck again? Forces himself upon me?"

Lucius glanced down at his desk, setting his eyes upon the shapes in the wood. "He will not try again, I am sure. Now he knows you are married, and who to."

"But there will be no one to stop h- Merlin's curses, Lucius, would you _look _at me while I'm talking to you?" When Lucius looked up she took in a deep breath and began again. "But there will be no one to stop him, and he's been looking at me in the common room, and he keeps on spreading more and more rumours and just know he'll try again, and I don't know if I'll be able to stop him and I'm worried about it, Lucius." She took in a deep breath, having run out of it.

"Didn't your father teach you to pause during speech?"

"Would you please stay on topic?"

"Narcissa," Lucius sighed, "neither of us need this. I have handed in my resignation, I am going, and that is that. You will be remaining here to – No, let me finish. – to complete your education. If you would like carry on snapping at me then I shall depart on a bitter note. If you would rather come here and give me a proper goodbye, I would be much more appreciative."

Narcissa shifted where she stood, lips pursing as though unsure whether to embrace him or hex him. Apparently the part of her body controlling her affections won that internal battle, for she unfolded her arms with a huff and crossed the room to him. Lucius twisted his chair around and held out his hand to Narcissa as she got closer, coaxing her upon his lap when she took it. She easily straddled his waist, wrapping her arms around his neck, so he gained quite the view down her shirt. He ignored it, however, fixing his eyes upon hers to keep his regal, gentlemanly demeanour safe.

"So, when were you going to tell me?" she murmured quietly, brushing her hand through Lucius' hair. "You wouldn't have left without saying goodbye, would you?"

"Of course I would not have. I was going to send my owl with a note saying that you should come and see me when I had finished packing."

Narcissa nodded slowly. "Does he have a name?"

There was a pause in which Lucius tilted his head, wrapping his arms around her waist. "Who? My owl?"

She nodded again.

"No. Why would he?" Lucius wondered incredulously.

"Oh, come now, every owl needs a name!"

"It's a _bird._"

"It's a pet."

"It's a worker."

"Your house-elf has a name."

"It was not my choice to christen the bloody thing with such indications of humanity, as though it is in some way equal."

"Your mother?"

Lucius' lips lifted ruefully, as though he appeared pleased that Narcissa seemed to know his mother's character without ever having met her. "Yes. She felt sorry for it and the way father kept calling it 'Thing'. She was quite fond of Dobby." He shrugged. "Maybe that's why it likes you so much."

"It likes me?"

"Well, yes. It doesn't darn _my _socks three times to make sure every single crease is out of them."

Narcissa smiled, and Lucius was hard-pressed to not mimic her. To have his mind so easily led from his every worry and concern to such trivial things as names for owls and house-elves was not an easy feat, yet she managed it seemingly without trying.

_How truly brilliant she is._

He seemed to be brought back down to earth with a firm and unpleasant jolt, however: "When will I see you?" Narcissa asked, smile wavering and tone soft, almost mournful.

He sighed. "You may come home every holiday, that goes without saying. I think that somewhere in the attic I have a pair of two-way mirrors. I shall have Dobby find them and my bird bring one of them to you. Then you may see me whenever you wish it. Do you think that would be satisfactory for the time being?"

Clearly lying, Narcissa nodded. Lucius sighed again and turned his gaze back to his desk, settling on the little white box.

"May I offer you a confection?" he asked, holding out his hand to proffer towards the box.

Narcissa glanced back at it and nodded. "I'd like that." When neither moved, she added, "But I'm afraid my arms are quite preoccupied right now." As though to prove her point, she tightened them a little around Lucius' neck, pulling him closer momentarily.

He smirked, reaching out to remove the lid from the box again. Leaning forwards into her to retrieve a truffle, kissing her neck softly as he did so, he plucked one of the sweets from the box before sitting back in his chair. He raised it to her mouth where she accepted it, eyes innocently wide as she took the truffle within her lips, biting down halfway into it with her pearly teeth to keep it firmly in her mouth.

When she remained still, merely biting down into the chocolate a little more, Lucius raised an eyebrow. "Well?" he inquired with a tilt of his head. His answer came in the form of Narcissa smiling around the sweet little sphere, leaning down and in to press the other half against his lips.

His smirk widened and he turned his head to take the rest of the truffle within his own teeth, their lips pressing together and brushing as they simultaneously bit down and consumed their respective half. Narcissa leant away, closing her eyes as she slowly savoured the divine combination of vanilla and chocolate in much the same way as Lucius.

"How lovely," she commented as she opened her eyes to set them back upon him.

"I thought so too," he replied, eyes trained on her as though he was not entirely referring to the taste of the confection.

Narcissa's lips twitched, seemingly picking this up in his voice, and she leant in again. Languidly, she withdrew her tongue from the warm confines of her mouth and traced the very tip over Lucius' lips, sensually collecting the sugar which remained dusted over his mouth.

His lips parted as she did so, and his eyes slid closed for a second before she pulled away all too soon.

"It would not fare well if someone walked in on us now, Lucius," she murmured.

He sighed. "I would not think it really matters. The entire school knows of us."

"But we need not give them clarification."

He nodded. "Then I suppose now I should bid you farewell." He felt her hand grip the collar of his shirt tightly, clearly not wanting him to bid her anything.

"Yes. You should."

A breath later and their lips were joined in the most passionate of kisses, screaming words which they could never hope to whisper to one another, fingers entwining and the taste of vanilla mingling on their lips. Their eyes were closed as they allowed themselves to drown in the smell of one another's skin, the scent of aftershave and perfume and shampoo which had become so familiar to each other. They pressed impossibly close, as though imprinting the feel of the other's body to their own, sharing the heat of their skin for as long as possible, a single entity with two hearts beating entirely as one.

Then it was over.

Narcissa pulled away, breathing in deeply and staring at him, and Lucius raised his hand to brush the tear from her cheek.

"Goodnight, goodnight," he purred softly, the sound rising from deep within his chest.

Narcissa smiled and leant her cheek further into his hand, raising her own to hold it there. She allowed her eyes to slide closed. "Parting is such sweet sorrow."

* * *

><p>"So is Professor Malfoy your suitor?" Maurice pressed insistently, staring at Narcissa.<p>

She sighed in exasperation. "Maurice, you've been doing this for the past month. Let it go, alright?"

"If he wasn't why would he have left so suddenly?" she carried on, regardless.

"I've said a thousand times _I don't know_," Narcissa growled through gritted teeth, "Maybe it was just all the rumours."

"Then he's not your suitor?"

"I've already said no, he's not." Her denials were technically not lies. No one had asked was Professor Malfoy her _husband_, therefore she was not really lying. She was not denying him, so it was fine.

"Girls, girls," came the hoarse whisper of Professor Dartemy, shuffling over to them, "Carry on with your work, please."

Both of said girls stared up at him. He humbly bowed his head and shuffled away in an attempt to calm some other students on the opposite side of the room.

Narcissa scowled. Lucius would have had a fit if he could see the state of his classroom. It was in uproar, every student ignoring the wheezing voice of the substitute professor as they idly chatted or threw enchanted parchment planes or fought over whose quill was whose. The bufflemorphkin skeleton was gone, the torches in brackets around the walls burning with red flames as opposed to the green which the previous professor preferred, the classroom bare save for the occupants of portraits who stared down at the disarrayed class with much amusement. One even had tea and scones to consume while he amused himself with watching the students blatantly ignore the professor's attempt at gaining control. Needless to say, the man did not have the same authoritativeness as Lucius. His hunched back, greasy, greying hair and watery eyes could not command the same instant respect of Lucius' low voice, his high head and iron-solid eyes.

But then who _did _have the same presence, the same dominating prowess of Lucius Malfoy?

_Oh, Merlin, why aren't you here?_

It had been just two weeks since Lucius had very abruptly left the school, and Narcissa already…missed him? No, definitely not. Wanted the summer holidays. Yes, that. Nothing had really changed, despite the fact that Narcissa thought all would be different. The school merely kept on hustling and bustling, whispering behind her back and casting envious glances to her engagement ring. The only noticeable change, she supposed, was that Rodolphus had stopped pushing the sleeves of his shirts up to his elbows and had taken to becoming very reclusive and subdued, while his girlfriend seemed constantly very pleased with herself. Narcissa could hazard a guess that both of them had black brands burnt into their forearms.

True to his word, Lucius had sent Nameless to her with one of two two-way mirrors which they had used every night of the first week of his departure. She had kept her drapes tightly drawn and a silencing spell around her bed so not to arouse suspicion as she spoke small talk to her husband, often falling asleep with her mirror propped up and facing her to create the illusion that neither of them were so alone.

However, that had ceased last Wednesday night, exactly a week ago. At first she had been unconcerned when she whispered his name and all she saw was darkness, thinking that he had merely gotten drunk and passed out in another room or something similar. However, on the second night of this occurrence she had begun to get worried, and became steadily more so on each night following where she was met with nought but darkness in the looking glass. Thoughts of _what if he has found another woman, a mistress? _turned to _what if he is hurt? _to _what if he is worse than hurt? _A million 'what ifs' ran around her brain, crashing into her skull and reverberating around her conscious until it wasn't only her sleep that was restless from the possibilities, but her dark-eyed wakefulness where she could think of nothing but her husband's faithfulness or well-being.

"So," hissed Maurice, "who _is _your suitor?"

Narcissa was thankfully spared the need to answer her friend with either words or a hex, the latter being the most likely, when Professor Dartemy croaked, "Thank you, class. You are dismissed." He raised his arms as though in an attempt to gain any degree of respect from the pupils, but even the Hufflepuffs were not interested in acknowledging him as they noisily packed their quills and blank rolls of parchment away.

Taking the interruption of Maurice's constant nagging as a blessing, Narcissa shouldered her bag and made her way from the room before her friend had barely begun packing away, breathing in the cool air outside the classroom deeply. The corridor was near-empty, fortunately, so she walked in satisfied silence down the tortuous, winding staircases of Hogwarts. One set of stairs tried to move as she stepped onto it, but she narrowed her eyes and stamped her foot and it moved back to its original position with a whining noise not unlike a frightened puppy.

The air became steadily cooler as she made her way down the familiar labyrinth of the dungeons, caressing her face and ridding her of the thin sheet of perspiration which came with the warmth of near-June. _Of course Lucius isn't hurt, _Narcissa convinced herself, the clear air brushing the niggling doubts and concerns from her mind, _otherwise I would have received an owl about it. He is fine._

More out of force of habit than anything else, she made a detour on the way to her Potions classroom to pass by the blank expanse of wall where her husband's room once resided. She had already tried to get into it before, a few days after his departure, but she had merely been met with unchanging dark stone. She hadn't expected anything else, but had still found herself down-hearted. Her eyes wandered across the wall, searching for some indication that a door was hiding there somewhere, but she found none. She failed at stifling a displeased sigh.

"Hello," Narcissa smiled meekly and without sincerity to Severus. He was already standing outside the Potions classroom when she arrived, unsurprisingly scribbling in that Potions book which he never seemed to be without.

"Good afternoon, Narcissa," he mumbled hurriedly as he snapped his book shut, hurriedly stowing it in his satchel. "How are you?"

"Fine, thank you," she lied cordially, "and yourself?"

"Fine."

Pretending that both believed the other, the small talk ended. They stood side-by-side in a silence which was neither comfortable nor awkward. Just there. They did not have to wait long. Fairly soon the current class in Professor Slughorn's classroom began to file out.

"…member, I want your essays on the Bundimun Secretion, its properties and uses, for next lesson!" came the professor's muffled voice as the door opened and sixth-year Gryffindors and, Narcissa realised with a pang, Slytherins marched out.

She involuntarily moved a little closer to Severus as though for some form of protection, looking down as she felt the raging oceans of blue held within Crowley's eyes scour her face with scrutiny, felt the swirling cold weight in her stomach as the fear of what he could do wash over her. _His body pressing into hers, his hot mouth inches from her skin, his hands everywhere._

"Keep moving, Crowley," came Andy's firm voice, and Narcissa glanced up to see a reassuring smile and thumbs-up from her big sister. She twitched her lips weakly back.

The sounds of the sixth-years disappeared up the corridor, though Narcissa could feel Crowley's eyes on her over his shoulder. She refused to look back at him.

"Come in, come in," beckoned Professor Slughorn to the two students, smiling in his fatherly manner, "don't be shy."

Narcissa and Severus glanced at each other and quietly entered the classroom. They watched as Professor Slughorn threw his wand about in a number of ostentatiously huge swishes and flicks, waving his entire arm as though leading an orchestra. The remnants of the previous class cleaned themselves away and stools returned themselves to their rightful places, upon which Narcissa and Severus found their own and sat.

"Miss Black, how is your father?" Professor Slughorn asked amiably as he moved over to his desk, looking down into a small cauldron on the top of it, "I remember teaching Master Cygnus Black, back in the day. Quite into his studies of dark potions, if I remember correctly."

"He is fine, thank you, Sir," Narcissa nodded.

"Ah, good, good," the professor replied distractedly. He flicked his wand to move a desk into the centre of the room and levitated the cauldron from his desk onto it. Closer up, Narcissa could see that steam was rising from the contents in little spirals. She raised herself up on her stool in an attempt to get a better look at the contents and saw that the liquid inside had a soft shine, a sheen in the colour of mother of pearl.

_Like Lucius' buttons on his wedding robes…_

Fighting all impulse to let her thoughts wander to her husband, Narcissa drew her mind away from the potion and sat back down in her seat, not sure that she wanted to know what it was.

"Come in, come in, quickly," bustled Professor Slughorn as more students shuffled tiredly into his classroom. Maurice took her usual place by Narcissa but said nothing, clearly indignant at the betrayal of her leaving so quickly. She turned her nose up and rested her head on her hand.

"Now then," began Professor Slughorn when the entire class had seated themselves and the Slytherins had stopped throwing scathing looks at the Gryffindors, holding up his arms to call for silence, "now then, now then. 'Never yet has anyone managed to create the truly unbreakable, eternal, unconditional attachment that alone can be called Love'. Can anyone tell me who said that?" There was a pause, before, "Yes, Master Snape?"

"Hector Dagworth-Granger," mumbled Severus, lowering his only half-raised hand.

"Very good, very good! Take ten points for Slytherin," Professor Slughorn grinned, "and can anyone tell me what he was talking about in saying that?"

Severus raised his hand again, when no one else did. "Love potions."

"Oho! Excellent, m'boy! Another ten points! And so, does anyone think they can hazard a guess at what this is?" He pointed his wand down at the small cauldron of shimmering, steaming potion. "Yes, my dear boy," he added as Severus once again put up his hand at the reluctance or ignorance of everyone else.

"Amortentia. The most powerful love potion in the world. It is characterised by its pearly sheen and the spirals of steam. It invokes strong feelings of infatuation and has a different scent for everyone who smells it," he reeled off tonelessly, as though he was merely memorising a page from a Potions book, which, Narcissa reminded herself, he probably was. She noticed a few of the girls, including Maurice, lean forward in their seats for a closer look at the mention of it being the most powerful love potion.

Professor Slughorn looked more than a little impressed. "And this is why you are a pivotal member of the Slug Club, my dear boy. …Yes, yes. Very good. Very good indeed. It would seem from your knowledge you have dabbled in love potions yourself." Professor Slughorn grinned and winked.

Severus' sallow skin flushed a pale pink, and he turned away from the teacher, staring at his desk.

Unabashed, and seemingly regardless of Severus' discomfort, Professor Slughorn continued: "Yes, as Master Snape said, and take twenty more points for Slytherin for it, too, it smells different for every individual person. A reminder of the things one is most attracted to, you know." He smiled around the room. "As it is devilishly tricky to make – though I confess, I _did _make it myself – and also extremely dangerous in the wrong hands, especially those of school children" – He cast a knowing gooseberry-coloured eye around the girls in the room. – "you will not be learning how to brew it. However, you shall be studying this specimen here, making notes on its attributes in preparation for a short homework essay. One by one please, I want no accidents. For you to all fall in love with each other may lead to disastrous effects." He smiled a wide grin, eyes twinkling in a grandfatherly fashion as he surveyed his students. "Come, come, we don't have all day!"

Tired and disgruntled, the students stood one by one and lined up by the cauldron to stick their nose over the contents and breathe in deeply. Narcissa joined near the end of the queue behind Severus and Maurice, uninterested in the entire proceedings. She heard the other students whispering to each other after their turns – "Honey, nail polish and coffee, yeah," and "French toast, bonfires and freshly mown grass," or "Oi, Travers, I think I smelt your mum!" –strengthened her interest, however.

She watched as Severus leant his hooked nose over the cauldron, paused a moment, blushed and shuffled away and observed Maurice hover her upturned nostrils over it also, spending a few moments too long obviously searching for something to remind her of Walden. Then was Narcissa's turn.

At first, when she bent over the cauldron, she smelt nothing. For an incredulous moment she wondered if she was attracted to anything at all. Then she breathed in deeply, and there it was, a whole host of delightful aromas which made her draw in an even deeper breath.

They all caressed her nostrils as one, delighting her senses in one forceful breath, but she could make out each individual scent as so very easily. Peaches and cream, worn leather and clean linen sheets were the most prominent at first, followed by a freshly lit fire and hot apple pie on a cold winter's day, each smell as tantalizing as the last. But then, the longer she hovered over the potion, and the more she breathed in, the stronger than another scent became, underlying all the rest but becoming ever more significant with every intake of breath. Aftershave. _But not just anyone's_.

She pushed herself away from the Amortentia, her stomach clenching tightly in something which felt a lot like yearning.

"Miss Black?" Professor Slughorn asked concernedly at Narcissa's heavy breathing and wide eyes which she was only vaguely aware of, "Are you okay, my dear?"

She nodded, but really didn't feel it. "I'm afraid I feel a little faint, Professor," she said quickly, and didn't have to fake the feeling, "May I go to the Hospital Wing?"

"Why yes, yes, of course," Professor Slughorn nodded, twitching his hand towards the door to encourage her.

Distantly aware of everyone in the class watching her, Narcissa snatched up her bag and stalked out of the classroom, feeling tears prickle up behind her eyes. She turned this way and that down the corridors of the dungeons, making sure no one could find her should they look, before collapsing against the wall, pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes in an attempt to stem the tears. It was no use. His face was imprinted behind her eyelids.

Sobbing quietly, feelings of dread and need twisting within every fibre of her being, she knew she had to return home. Alone in the corridor, where she had time to think, she conjured a plan.

* * *

><p>Narcissa listened hard.<p>

One.

Two.

Three.

All was still and quiet, only steady breathing from her room mates audible in the dormitory. Alberta snored, muttered something about Goyle and pixie dust and turned over.

Tentatively and fully-clothed, Narcissa slid her drapes back and stepped out of bed, looking about for any kind of disturbance. All was still and quiet. Now was her chance.

She took in a deep breath and, just for once last try, took the two-way mirror from under her pillow. She stared at herself in the looking glass and fluffed up her hair out of habit before whispering, "Lucius Malfoy." As usual recently, there was nothing but darkness. She sighed and quietly moved to her trunk, lifting the lid and placing the mirror inside. A flick of her wand and her bed was made; another flick and her trunk was locked. She placed the scrawled note she had written earlier to her room mates on top of the trunk – _You will not be seeing me again. Tell Professor Dumbledore to send my trunk home. I wish you all the best. Cissa. – _and wrapped herself tightly within the hooded cloak she was clad in. She pulled up the hood and steeled her resolve.

_He may need me._

She cast her gaze around the closed drapes and lumps under the sheets and felt the twist of guilt at not saying goodbye properly, which only doubled when she thought that she had hardly said goodbye to her sisters in the common room that evening either. She heaved a sigh. They would just make what she had to do so much harder. She would send them a letter when she got where she was going. They would understand.

Convincing herself of this, Narcissa gave one last check that all of her belongings were firmly within her trunk before she left the dormitory, not looking back.

The common room was still and silent, eerie from the lack of any sign of humanity. Barely any light reached any part of the room, since the fire was merely dying embers and the torches were burning low in their brackets. Perhaps if she had looked over in the corner she would have seen Severus' eyes on her, watching her skulk across the common room and leaving through the portrait doorway, but she did not. Sure that their paths would cross again, Severus merely returned to his book.

The castle was just as eerily still, and, thankfully, Narcissa knew she did not have to travel far to get to the huge front doors from her common room. There was barely any chance of her bumping into any patrollers, dead or alive. She looked over her shoulder regularly to make sure no one was sneaking up behind her and carried on through the dungeon corridors at a brisk pace, often pulling her hood up to drown her face in shadow more.

_I know what I'm doing. I know what I'm doing. I know what I'm doing. _

The glow of the moonlit entrance hall was just up ahead, and Narcissa knew she could not turn back.

_I am a wife. I know what I'm doing_.

She turned the corner sharply from the dungeon corridors into the entrance hall, heading towards the great oak front doors and looking over her shoulder distractedly to make sure she wasn't being followed – and bumped into a solid but somewhat soft body-shaped object. What felt like wispy hair tickled her face.

An expletive escaped her lips in a hiss as she stepped back quickly, her hood dropping. She was too busy covering her mouth and staring up at the figure with wide eyes to pull it back up. She felt her stomach plummet.

"A moonlit wander, Miss Black?" came the soft voice of Professor Dumbledore. He surveyed her through his half-moon spectacles, eyes twinkling. "Quite unlike you."

"Pr-Professor, I can explain. I-"

The headmaster raised a hand. "Alas, no need. For all I know it may be the case that neither of us is here, merely sharing a simultaneous and rather pleasant dream."

Narcissa's eyebrows twitched upwards. "I…suppose?"

"Thus forgive me, but I think I should like to spend my precious moments of rest sharing a pleasant conversation rather than listening to a reason why you should be here when, in dreams, we are all quite free."

Narcissa stared up at the professor, becoming progressively more confused. He smiled down at her.

"Though, if I may be so bold as to ask a young lady, where are you going in this dream?"

She swallowed, considering this. "Home. I'm going home."

"Ah, where the heart is." Professor Dumbledore's eyes twinkled knowingly.

"Quite, Sir," she replied, looking away.

"Well, I hope in the morning you have all you need."

Narcissa slowly nodded. "I am sure I will."

"Then, if that is all you are searching for, I shall bid you good night." He gently placed a hand on her shoulder before moving past her, robes billowing around his feet and making his movements perfectly fluid.

Narcissa breathed out a deep, relieved sigh, wondering how in the name of Merlin's beard she had gotten out of that one, and took a step forwards when the headmaster spoke again, stilling her.

"Oh. The largest one is the most reliable. Friendliest, too. Just stroke beneath the chin and he'll do anything."

Narcissa's eyes narrowed as she registered his words, trying to deduce their significance. By the time she had done so and spun around, the professor was ascending the marble stairs to the first floor.

"I wish you a safe journey, Mrs. Malfoy," he smiled, which she could tell from his voice even though she couldn't see his face, before he swept around the corner and out of sight.

Narcissa stood in shock for a few moments. Then a small smile graced her face. "Thank you, Albus." She turned on heel, pulled her hood up and carried on towards the front doors of the castle, no longer looking behind her.

Narcissa moved stealthily across the grounds, a good few minutes of tickling the great, worn oak of the front doors later. They had opened and closed with a very quiet creak, not enough to wake a mouse let alone the whole castle like she had feared, and she was stealing over the grass like a thief with treasure; swift and agile, unnoticed by the slumbering school in the shroud of night in which her hooded figure perfectly camouflaged. Making sure to skirt around the hut of the half-breed oaf, for there was still light glinting through a crack in the curtains, Narcissa dipped lithely into the sparse trees of the Forbidden Forest. She swallowed. It looked a whole lot more forbidden at night.

Trees pressed in on her at every side, even in the thinly populated area at the beginning of the forest, made so much more gnarled and foreboding by the streams of moonlight igniting the leering faces and stretching fingers in the trunks and branches. She heard something move a few metres to the left of her and seriously considered turning back and crawling into bed. She was scared. So scared…

The weight of her engagement ring burnt into her finger, and the feeling of responsibility toughened her resolve to steel. _I know what I'm doing._

Glancing over her shoulder, Narcissa drank in the sight of the castle lit up in the moonlight against the inky canvas of sky, little grey puffs of cloud making the whole scene ever more picture perfect. Everything was so peaceful and tranquil, the lake creating a rippling façade of sky and even the Whomping Willow being completely immobile, seeming to not want to ruin the unadulterated serenity of the Hogwarts grounds which were not interrupted by even a breeze. A few windows were still illuminated with light here and there, and she wondered for a moment who could be up at such a dastardly hour. Doubting she would ever see it again, and trying not to succumb to the rising wave of sadness at the thought, she drew in a heavy breath and treaded nimbly into the forest.

"_Lumos,_" Narcissa whispered, and used her wand to guide her over grabbing tree roots, distinguishing shadow from solid. Branches snagged her cloak but she soldiered on, unperturbed. There was no room for fear. She knew what she had to do.

It was at least half an hour of wandering before Narcissa found what she was searching for. She thought that she was going to end up cold, alone and with an imminent death at the bottom of an incline again for some time, until she found signs of what she wanted; she leant down to light up the hoof prints on the floor, indentations of equine-type creatures recently treading over that space. A little bubble of hope swelled within her stomach, and she followed the trail.

After around another ten minutes of searching, losing and finding the trail over and over, she heard them before she saw them. The soft pawing at the ground and snorting of horses, with the dull underlying rasping like a death rattle.

"_Nox,_" she murmured, for the clearing in which they stood, as they were when she had first saw them, was completely moonlit, and she needed no extra light to look upon the illuminated creatures.

The thestrals turned their great, dragonish heads to stare at Narcissa as she approached them carefully, feeling her every instinct telling her to run and doing her best to ignore them. _Professor Dumbledore rides them. They're tame. They're fine._ If anything, they appeared more nervous of her than she did of them, for they backed away and whinnied uncomfortably as she slowly moved towards them through the thinning trees, rustling their great leathery wings restlessly.

In an attempt to calm their, and her own, nerves, Narcissa lowered her hood, sliding her wand up her sleeve and holding out her hands as though to show she was of no threat. She wasn't sure how intelligent thestrals were, nor their language capabilities, but they seemed to get the general gist, for they raised their heads to better survey Narcissa with their pupiless eyes, shaking their skeletal haunches from side to side as opposed to moving away. They seemed curious.

"What was it Professor Dumbledore had said?" she murmured aloud, approaching the thestrals with lessening apprehension, for they slowly approached her too, "The largest is the friendliest and most reliable. Stroke under the chin…" Her eyes swept around the clearing, looking over a few haughty-looking females and a very small thestral which looked like a foal asleep within the folded wings of its mother. The biggest one by far was directly in front of her, and was slowly approaching Narcissa, mane and tail swishing.

_Well, _Narcissa resigned herself, when it had come close enough to touch, _here goes nothing._

* * *

><p>"Oh, Lucius. Lucius, Lucius, Lucius." Cold, unfeeling red eyes stared down upon the man, searching his face. "Whatever shall I do with you?"<p>

"My Lord," Lucius whispered, his voice rasping, "Surely keeping me prisoner in my own home for two weeks is enough f-"

"Are you trying to dictate what punishment I should give you, Lucius?"

"N-no, my Lord, of course not," Lucius rectified quickly. "I have failed you. I deserve every punishment you have."

Cold, spidery fingers curled around Lucius' chin, suddenly jerking his head up. Grey eyes surrounded by dark circles met crimson surrounded only by white. The Dark Lord leant down, and for a moment Lucius was sure that he was going to kiss him. They merely stared, however, seeing which of them would break first. Knowing that he would be punished if he challenged the Dark Lord, Lucius blinked and looked away, focusing instead on the colossal snake coiled up in front of the hearth, soaking in the flames of the burning fire like a cat.

"Well, I do not want to lose you. You have proven to be a very good asset to my organisation, slippery as you are. I am sure there are other roles I could have you fulfil." The Dark Lord's tone was airy, almost conversational. He pushed away, sitting back in the leather armchair of Lucius' study while the lord of the manor kneeled, prone and crumpled, at his feet. "Such a shame you have no family of which to speak."

Lucius shook his head. "No, my Lord."

He had endured the same conversation every night for the past fourteen days, and his resolve was beginning to weaken. He had sent a letter to the Dark Lord of his resignation from Hogwarts and, as expected, he did not take it well. So not-well, in fact, that he had made a personal visit to Lucius' mansion, forcing through the wards and magical protection like a knife through butter, flanked by two Death Eaters.

To refer to himself as a prisoner in his own home was far too accurate. He was allowed to eat and drink only what the Dark Lord instructed the house-elf to give him, and was not allowed to sleep save for when he passed out from utter exhaustion. His knees hurt unbearably from the amount of time he had been upon them, kneeling before the Dark Lord and begging for forgiveness until his pride had stopped torturing him and he had become desensitized to his own pleas.

The two Death Eaters which the Lord invited into Lucius' house, for they were different every night, were often the kind for physical punishment; Dolohov found it especially hilarious to accompany Lucius to the bathroom, as ordered for the traitor was not to be left alone, and punch him repeatedly in the stomach, chest, ribs, snarling words such as, "Not the Dark Lord's most faithful now, are you?" Lucius stopped hearing the words after the third or fourth day, and stopped feeling the pain. He just wanted it to end.

He had not even bothered trying to negotiate with the Dark Lord. He was too fixated on the ideas of betrayal and mutiny, was too overcome with twisted fascination when he saw Lucius at his feet, to listen to any form of valid reason why his most faithful could not continue work at Hogwarts. Besides, if Lucius did try to explain, he would have to mention Narcissa. Marrying Narcissa. And that would put her in harm's way, which he could not allow. Besides, if he mentioned it after fourteen days, after having hidden all memories of his wife from the Dark Lord during the brutal and numerous delvings of his mind, he knew that neither of them would live to tell the tale.

"Does it hurt, Lucius?" the Dark Lord inquired softly.

_Yes. Yes, everything hurts. _On his knees, his right hand clutching the Dark Mark on his left forearm in an attempt to stem the searing pain which had been constant since the Lord had made his presence first known in Lucius' home, Lucius nodded his head feebly. "Yes," he murmured.

"I beg your pardon."

"Yes. It hurts, my Lord," Lucius repeated, louder. Somewhere behind him he heard Dolohov chuckle darkly. His back arched and he hunched over so he did not have to look up at those cruel scarlet eyes. His greasy hair slithered down and hung unpleasantly around his face. He felt utterly disgusting, and utterly emasculated.

"Good. Perhaps it will teach you to betray your Lord, won't it?"

"Yes, my Lord. I pray for your forgiveness, my Lord."

"Hm, and perhaps I shall give it to you, Lucius. But then perhaps I shall not." He tilted his head, clearly expecting some form of answer from the prone man at his feet. He received none. He opened his mouth to speak again when, suddenly, a pulse shuddered through the house. It was like a ripple in water, a clear sign that someone had just entered the wards of the manor.

Contemplatively, the Dark Lord stroked his wand. "Interesting. Someone else has entered your protections, have they not, Lucius? It must be someone you know well, for I have not invited anyone else. Greyback." The scent of wet dog which had repulsed Lucius for the last few days moved closer. "Go and greet our guest. Bring them to me."

Lucius' mind reeled. Who in the name of all in Camelot could it be? His father, definitely not. But then the only person it could be was…

_No. Oh, Narcissa, no._

Sure enough, his worst fears were confirmed when he heard a scream reverberate around the entrance hall. His head whipped around and he made to stand – he couldn't stop himself, until the Dark Lord did it for him.

"Ah ah, Lucius," Lord Voldemort whispered, flicking his wand and immediately bringing Lucius back to his knees. "Stay."

In less than a minute Greyback reappeared, dragging what only could have been Narcissa's struggling form. Lucius' breath caught in his throat, and everything went very blurry. The Dark Lord seemed most amused.

"Where are your manners?" he spoke to the young, writhing girl, "Remove your cloak, let your company see you."

A swish of his wand and the hooded cloak shrouding Narcissa was in tatters, exposing her; her soft curls, her lithe body, her pale, petrified face, wide and watery eyes searching Lucius' for help.

She found none.

"Well, well, who is this?" inquired the Dark Lord softly, entwining his fingers together.

"One of Malfoy's little whores, no doubt," Dolohov drawled, moving over to inspect Narcissa. "Pretty one too. I don't blame him. Maybe I could borrow her."

The Dark Lord's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Are you so weak to succumb to pleasures of the flesh, Dolohov?" he demanded.

The Death Eater looked immediately taken aback. "No, my Lord," he replied meekly. He seemed to remember what happened at the Bones' house, for he took a step back, head lowered.

Satisfied, the Dark Lord turned his gaze back upon Narcissa, looking politely interested. She stared back, but looked a lot more horrified. Lucius could guess she was going to pass out at any moment. He couldn't blame her.

"Well, who are you?" Lord Voldemort asked Narcissa softly, stroking his wand in his long, dextrous fingers.

Narcissa looked to Lucius, seeking help, security, clarification, anything. She got nothing from his cold, stoic gaze.

The Dark Lord sighed mockingly, clearly bored with the waiting but wanting nothing more. "_Legilimens," _he hissed.

Narcissa instantly collapsed in Greyback's grasp, his grip on her upper arms being the only things holding her up. Lucius could see from her blank expression, her twitching body that the Dark Lord was seeking, tearing at and smashing into everything inside her mind, and was leaving nothing alone. Narcissa could not stop him. He would find out all.

And then neither of them may make it out alive.

The Dark Lord ravaged Narcissa's mind for what felt like hours, though it must have been a few seconds at best. She drew in a heavy breath when he withdrew, sobs wracking her body as tears tracked down her face. She kept her eyes closed, not wanting to look upon her judgement.

The Dark Lord, however, seemed perfectly calm. He surveyed Narcissa with a polite gaze, as though she was a friendly acquaintance telling him about the weather. His crimson eyes betrayed nothing.

Then, "Kill the spare."

"No!" Lucius declared, head suddenly snapping up, eyes fixed and hard upon the Dark Lord's face. "She has done nothing, my Lord. Let her be."

The Dark Lord's eyes narrowed, the red pupils becoming dangerously small slits, like lacerations in his face. "You lied about her Lucius. You told me you had no family. Nobody lies to the Dark Lord."

"That is because we married barely a month ago."  
>"And you thought not to tell me?" His voice was low, threatening.<p>

His entire body felt detached from his being, as though he was watching the scene from above. Though, he reasoned, it _was _like a near-death experience, being in front of the Dark Lord with him looking so displeased. Lucius was petrified, but he had to save himself, save his wife. _Not listening to negotiations be damned. I have to try._

"My Lord, I beg of you. I have been your most loyal follower over the past years, have I not? I have gained vital information from Albus Dumbledore, his weaknesses, about the Order of the Phoenix. If not for me then Dolohov" – Lucius resisted casting a venomous glare over his shoulder. – "would still be supplying the Ministry with information about our side, our case, our organisation."

"Do you want to say that again, Mal-?" Dolohov snarled, but the Dark Lord raised a hand to silence him.

"My Lord, I have been ever faithful, ever aware of your needs," Lucius continued, imploring, "and I have recruited others to the cause who will be willing to fight for you, and the rise of Pureblood supremacy, for your overtaking of the Ministry. I, alone, have toiled away in that castle for years teaching students to maintain the façade I have needed to for you, and yet still I have managed to report back the most important information from the likes of Dumbledore. Have I not, my Lord? Have I not been your most unwavering, your most loyal servant?"

The Dark Lord seemed to consider this for a moment. There was the soft sound of slithering over carpet as Nagini began to uncoil herself, sliding up to her master's side and hissing what sounded like endearments in her flickering forked tongue. The Dark Lord touched her head, brushed her brow with the back of his hand, as the snake wound itself around Lucius' chair, binding the Dark Lord to it with endless coils of scaled body.

"It seems that I have perhaps overlooked the role you have played for me over these last years, my dear Lucius," the Dark Lord spoke softly, "You have, indeed, been so very faithful. And Lord Voldemort rewards his faithful followers. However, this betrayal." He motioned to Narcissa. "This cannot go unnoticed, Lucius. She must pay with her blood."

There was a deep, rumbling snarl behind Lucius, and he knew that Fenrir Greyback was smiling at the thought of spilling Lucius' pretty little wife's bodily fluids all over the floor. Lucius wanted to kill him.

"My Lord, she shall pay with her blood, for she shall pledge allegiance to you as I have done. I and my entire family. My whole bloodline, unborn children and deceased forefathers alike. We shall pay for this betrayal with our unwavering loyalty to you."

The Dark Lord looked from Lucius to Narcissa and back to Lucius, looking mildly interested. He breathed heavily through his flat nostrils. "And what of you, being so quiet, Mrs. Malfoy. Will you agree to this? Will you give your life to serve me, and promise the lives of your children to do so also?"

Lucius glanced over his shoulder at her. She was pale as a ghoul but with a sicklier tinge, lips parted and eyes wide. A trickle of petrified sweat rolled down her brow. He noticed how Greyback was holding her, clutching her neck hard enough to bruise the perfect skin. Again, the urge to kill within Lucius rose. For a split-second, Narcissa's eyes flicked to those of her husband, and their gazes met. An unspoken plea and agreement passed between them at the same moment.

"I will," uttered Narcissa.

The Dark Lord's lips curved into a cruel, hard smile. "Then you will make the Unbreakable Vow."

There was a pause. Narcissa's response was barely a terrified whisper. "I will."

"And take the Dark Ma-"

"No." Everyone's head shot round to look upon Lucius. He barely registered he had said it before he realised the Dark Lord's eyes were dangerously narrow.

"No, Lucius?" he repeated, voice a terrible hiss.

He felt like his legs were about to give way beneath him. "You may do as you wish with me, my Lord. But she will not be branded. She will pledge her life to you and our cause, but she will have no mark upon her."

The Dark Lord tilted his head as though in amusement, while Dolohov appeared infuriated. "You dare to question the Dark Lo-"

"Enough, Dolohov," he said coldly, once again raising his spidery fingers and silencing the man. "As you wish, Lucius. Since you have been so faithful, I shall not brand your wife. It will be you, however, to bind us together. Let go of her, Greyback."

Lucius turned to watch Greyback reluctantly unhand Narcissa, pushing her towards the Dark Lord's outstretched fingers. Lucius' eyes followed her as she numbly moved across the room as though automatically, not feeling anything.

The knot in Lucius' stomach grew to an extortionate size.

"Are you afraid?" the Dark Lord asked silkily as Narcissa approached. She nodded without question, and he smirked widely. "As you should be. Take my hand."

Narcissa could not seem to do it. She stared at the Dark Lord's hand, then to his face, then to the snake coiled around him. Her legs were trembling. It looked as though she would faint any minute.

_I need to get this over with._ Lucius moved towards his wife and placed his hand on her shoulder. He gently squeezed, ghosting a kiss behind her ear. "Trust me," he whispered.

Narcissa shuddered beneath his fingers. Heaving a deep breath, she slowly reached out and took the Dark Lord's right hand in her own.

"Kneel," the man commanded silkily. Narcissa did so.

Lucius took a step forwards to stand over the two, placing the tip of his wand over their linked hands. He kept his eyes firmly on his wand, so he did not have to look upon his wife's terror-stricken face.

The Dark Lord spoke. "Will you, Narcissa Malfoy, pledge your allegiance and life to serving my cause of raising Pureblood supremacy and eradicating the scum of wizardkind?"

Narcissa swallowed. She shut her eyes tightly for a moment, as though willing it to be all a dream, before opening them again. "I will," she said.

A thin tongue of flame issued from Lucius' wand and wound around their bound hands like a snake, glowing white-hot.

"And will you swear to me the lives of your children to this cause, to be my faithful servants, and the rest of the bloodline you should produce?"

Narcissa nodded, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes, her free hand shaking. "I will."

A second tongue shot out and linked with the first, creating a linked, glowing chain like red-hot wire around their hands.

"And will you be willing to die for this cause, and be willing to allow your husband and children to die for it?"

Narcissa bowed her head, her voice choked and hoarse. "I will."

Another jet of flame issued from Lucius' wand and bound around their clasped hands thickly, holding their palms firmly together with its intense, burning glow. Then it was gone.

Lucius watched the flames around their hands fade, and Narcissa wrenched her fingers from the Dark Lord's. _What have I done? _was the thought that pounded him internally, _what have I done?_

"Dolohov, Greyback, go. You are unneeded here now," the Dark Lord addressed the Death Eater and lycan dismissively.

There was a soft growl of disappointment but two identical pops as the two men disapparated into nothingness, leaving only the lord and lady of the manor alone with Lord Voldemort with a tense and heavy atmosphere.

There was silence for a long time, save for the soft hissing of the snake wrapped around the Dark Lord. Then he spoke. "Lucius. You have no yet atoned for your crimes against me. Your beautiful wife here" – He brushed the back of his fingers against Narcissa's cheek and she flinched back. – "I am able to accept for your loyalty. But your betrayal." Lord Voldemort raised his wand. "I'm afraid I cannot yet forgive."

Narcissa looked up fearfully at the Dark Lord, at his rising wand, and then to her husband. A second later, though, she was looking back down, eyes clenched shut and hands clamped over her ears: "_Crucio_," whispered the Dark Lord.

Lucius immediately crumpled. The pain was unimaginable, intense, and everywhere. A thousand hot pokers rammed into every pain receptor in his body. Knives cut lacerations into every square millimetre of his skin. Even his internal systems hurt, for it felt like he had swallowed a million needles and they were pounding into everything they could drive their points into deep inside his body. His ears were filled with a high-pitched noise, his vision black and all other senses completely gone. There was no indication of time, place, or being. He was not even vaguely aware of his own screaming, of his writhing on the ground in excruciation. All that existed was the pain, the complete and never-ending agony.

It felt like it lasted forever, but it was over as soon as it begun. He lay, prone and shivering, rigid on the floor of his study, face planted firmly in the carpet. He breathed in the scent of the material, thanking any deity listening for the bliss of painlessness. He had never quite admired it so much.

He heard words somewhere very far away, voices he couldn't make out and sounds he didn't understand, before suddenly the room was no longer pushing down upon him with pressure, tension. The Dark Lord had gone. He lifted his head and took in a deep gasp of air, like a drowned man coming up to the surface. There were hands upon his body, little hands which were cold even through his shirt.

_Merlin, how I have missed those._

"Lucius," came a familiar voice, very far away. "Lucius, Lucius, talk to me." It was desperate. She was scared. His vision started to become less distorted, and he could make out her shape. "Lucius, talk to me. Please."

Slowly but surely, Lucius began to come back to full consciousness, and his sight upon Narcissa was clear. She was really there. He raised a hand and pressed it to her cheek, and she placed her fingers upon his to keep it there, crying quietly into his palm.

"Narcissa," Lucius rasped hoarsely, "I'm sorry."

She let out a noise halfway between a hysterical laugh and a sob. "You idiot," she whispered, her hand trailing down his arm. She flinched, however, and pulled her hand away when her fingers brushed over the Dark Mark. Apparently the searing heat wasn't only being felt by Lucius.

"I didn't mean to…I didn't…"

"Lucius, hush now. It's all over."

He tried to laugh derisively but no sound came from his mouth. _It will never be over._

"I think we both… have a lot of explaining to do."

"Yes, me too," Narcissa murmured, kissing his palm and wiping away her tears with the back of her free hand. She stared down at his dark eyes. "But first, sleep, perhaps."

Lucius was about to protest, but found himself only able to nod. Taking her hand weakly in his, he guided her to lie next to him on the study floor, dignity be damned. The thought of either of them walking anywhere was too much to bear. She fit her body to his and he wrapped his arms tightly, protectively, around her lithe little shoulders. He buried his head in her hair, holding on tightly to her shirt with his trembling fingers as they fell asleep, with all intentions to never let go.

* * *

><p>"So, what is this in aid of?" Narcissa asked haughtily.<p>

"I'm tired of walking through the entrance hall to that blank expanse of wall," Lucius replied, squeezing her shoulder gently. "I think it will be much better with a portrait there again, _not _of my father."

"Yes, but." She sighed. "Does it have to be so…big?"

She stared up at the colossal canvas which took up the vast majority of the entrance hall, while she and her husband sat and stood respectively on the marble stairs. A vast number of artists on broomsticks were whizzing about the canvas, painting the couple on the ground which were miniscule compared to the vast medium for the enchanted paints.

"Well of course. The first thing we want people to see when they walk in is us."

Narcissa sighed, but smiled nonetheless. "Of course, my love."

"Well, then. And sit up straighter." Lucius stood straighter behind his wife as though to make his point, brushing his free hand through his hair distractedly to make sure it was all entirely perfect.

Biting back a retort, Narcissa sat up higher in her straight-backed chair and watched the painters work as they brought the canvas to life with colour, the shapes of people already moving as they began to form the figures of the lord and lady of the manor. She smiled ruefully, straightening out the skirts of her dress pristinely. "It is a shame I do not have a child on my lap."

Again, the fingers upon Narcissa's shoulder gently squeezed. "One day, you will. And we'll have him added onto the painting."

"Him? How do you know it will be a him?" Narcissa felt Lucius' pointed stare into the side of her head as her answer. "Eyes front, darling," she smiled.

There was a long stint of silence, in which neither of them moved, quite content to watch the gargantuan representation of the two being captured forever in canvas and easel.

"Lucius," Narcissa wondered aloud, watching a portly wizard fight with a shade of red which didn't want to be put onto the canvas, "why didn't you let me take the Dark Mark? You still haven't told me." She felt his entire body tense beside her and glanced up. His mouth was a hard line.

"Because you are my wife. Mine, Narcissa," he replied in hushed tones, "and I will allow no other man to mark you as theirs."

She considered this. And then smiled. _His. _She felt completely and utterly safe. But it didn't last long. "Things aren't going to be like this for much longer, are they?" Narcissa whispered. She hazarded a glance up at her husband. He was staring straight ahead, but the third squeeze on her shoulder, involuntary or not, was indication that he had heard her.

"No," he replied, truthfully, "the Dark Lord will be calling for our services soon, no doubt." His eyes flicked down to hers. His lips twitched reassuringly. "We will be fine, Narcissa. Mark my words. We survived that night he was here with your rather untimely arrival back home, so I suspect we can survive anything. With some luck."

His eyes turned back to the canvas. Narcissa's lingered on his face for a while, before she followed his gaze. A small smile lifted her lips and she reached her arm up, putting her hand on top of his at her shoulder. Their fingers entwined.

"E con l'amor che move il sole e l'altre stelle."

* * *

><p>E con l'amor che move il sole e l'altre stele – The last line of Dante Alighieri's <em>The Divine Comedy<em>, meaning 'And with love that moves the sun and other stars'.

**Well. Not as bad as I thought it would go, I must say. I don't think I've ever given a piece of work so much time, effort and dedication.**

**I would like to most humbly thank my faithful reviewers and readers if you have stuck with this story from the very beginning and stuck with me – I need not name names. You know who you are. If I could I would bottle you all up and keep you with me always, because you're beautiful and I could not have continued writing without you. I would also like to thank you if you have just taken the time to read the complete version now it is done, and would ask that you still review, because then I would love to bottle you up too.**

**I want to work on new things after some time out, and so am reaching out to see what you would like from me. I have already received a half-request in a review from Gigi for Draco/Ginny, which I am tempted to **_**attempt**_**, so just send me a personal message or leave a review and lay 'em on me.**

**Last, but most certainly not least: I would like to thank the dear WanderingWordsmith who has been a brobdingnagian help (told you I'd get it in somewhere!) and has stayed by my side, keeping generally fabulous, throughout my rollercoaster of emotions while writing this fic, the beautiful band Barcelona who have kept me awake into the early hours of the morning while I am too consumed in writing to sleep (if you haven't heard of them I suggest you listen to them **_**now**_** k?), and to my Rainbow, without whom none of this would even have begun to come into existence, and who has given me more inspiration than she will ever know.**


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